


All We Are

by snarkingturtle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Gen, Part AU, part canon, spoilers through end of season 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-21 14:37:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkingturtle/pseuds/snarkingturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She still hadn’t checked Henry’s room. Hadn’t wanted to check Henry’s room, because she knew it would hit her like a kick to the gut, the rejected toys and books and games that had once made up his life, but weren’t important enough to bring with when he abandoned the old for the new. Emma thought 'I found my real mom!' and 'I have his room just waiting for him' and she almost, almost, couldn’t make herself enter the room that was a mother’s shrine to a son who no longer wanted her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Post Cricket Game fic. Some AU, some canon, and contains spoilers through the end of the season.
> 
> Timeline: Begins post 2x11, though I have taken some liberties with slowing things down--in my story, Archie doesn't reappear until ~3 weeks after Cricket Game.
> 
> Dedicated to Bridgesto, who will read this someday.

 

 

 

 

 --- 

Ever since Archie had shown up on Snow’s doorstep—tired, stressed, probably seriously traumatized, but very clearly _alive_ —the main thought running through Emma’s mind was _fuck_. Just…fucking fuck. Not that Emma wasn’t glad the man was alive. Obviously she was. Especially when she saw the look on Henry’s face. But _Regina_ —well, fuck. Emma thought about the dark look in Regina’s eyes before she had disappeared in that purple plume of smoke, a look that Emma was only in retrospect able to recognize as despair.

“I knew it,” Henry kept saying, and the relief on his face that his mother hadn’t killed Archie was so palpable that Emma’s throat clogged up. “I knew she didn’t do it. I _knew_ it,” and now, along with the relief, Emma could read guilt written all over his features as he looked up at her. “We have to find her, Emma. We have to find her and tell her that everything’s okay.”

“I know, kid,” Emma said, even though it _wasn’t_ okay and she didn’t know how she could ever make it okay, because—well, fuck. 

And how, exactly, Emma wondered, do you find an Evil Queen (no, she reminded herself, not evil, no longer evil)—who didn’t want to be found? They’d kept tabs on the mansion the first few days following Regina’s disappearance, but eventually gave up, as it never showed an ounce of life—not a single light or twitch of a curtain. They’d checked the crypt as well, but it was as dark and lifeless as the house. Emma didn’t know where else to look.

“If Cora finds her first…” Snow said, and her voice trailed off as she looked at Emma worriedly.

“She won’t,” Emma insisted, though really, how could she possibly be sure this was true? For all she knew, Cora could have _already_ found Regina, in which case…fuck.

 

In the end, Emma sent Henry to Granny’s for dinner with Snow, David, and a still bemused Archie, before hurrying out the door. She didn’t have a plan. She just needed to get out, to get away. Away from the worry on everyone’s faces, from the tear tracks on Henry’s cheeks after Emma explained he couldn’t help her look for his mother. 

Emma spent about half an hour driving around aimlessly—considering how claustrophobic the town sometimes felt, Emma was a bit surprised about how much town there actually was to drive aimlessly _in_ —before she found herself pulling up in front of Regina’s. Emma wasn’t even sure why she was _there_. Maybe just because she didn’t have anywhere else to go. Sighing, she turned off the Bug, made her way up to the front door, and rang the bell.

No answer. Not that she’d been expecting one, because Regina _wasn’t here_. Still. Emma fished Henry’s spare key out of her pocked—she’d borrowed it right after Regina pulled her disappearing act and they’d wanted to check inside the house—and let herself in. 

“Regina?” she called. “You home?”

Silence. The house was tomb-dark and musty, and Emma contemplated turning around, getting back in her car and driving to Henry. Because Regina. Wasn’t. Here.

Except. Where else, other than home, does someone go after losing everything? Snow and David would have said somewhere to plot vengeance, because that’s what Regina did best. But Emma had seen the look on Regina’s face when they ambushed her, and that look said defeat, not revenge. And maybe some people would just give it up as game lost and start over somewhere else—Regina, after all, was one of the only people who could leave the town—but her car was still in the driveway, and where could she go without that? Besides which, Emma honestly couldn’t picture Regina starting over anywhere without Henry. He had _been_ her starting over, and now this house was all she had left of him. So even if the house was empty and dark and musty and echoey, even if dust coated every surface Emma touched, she was damned if she wasn’t going to search the whole fucking place one more time before officially giving up.

Emma called for Regina a few more times as she made her way from room to room—leaving the lights off, even if it meant she had to squint until her eyes adjusted to the dark, because somehow messing with the lights felt too invasive, and just prowling around Regina’s house without her permission felt invasive enough already. But they were halfhearted calls. If Regina was here and going to answer, she would have already.

After clearing the first floor, Emma made her way up the winding staircase, holding tight to the dusty banister and feeling her way up each step. She gently opened doors as she moved down the hallway. Guestroom. Bathroom. Linen closet. Master bedroom.

Feeling defeated, Emma paused there, sinking down on the floor and leaning her back against Regina’s pristinely made bed, and put her head in her hands. Some savior she was, she thought bitterly, and ground her teeth so hard it hurt.

Emma sighed, and pushed herself to her feet. She still hadn’t checked Henry’s room. Hadn’t wanted to check Henry’s room, because she knew it would hit her like a kick to the gut, the rejected toys and books and games that had once made up his life, but weren’t important enough to bring with him when he abandoned the old for the new. Emma thought _I found my_ ** _real_** _mom_ , and _I have his room just  waiting for him_ , and she almost, almost couldn’t make herself enter the room that was a mother’s shrine to a son who longer wanted her.

Almost. In the end, she did check Henry’s room, because deep down, that was always where Emma had known she’d find her.

 

 

Regina was curled up on Henry’s bed, facing the window, the room illuminated only by the dim glow of his rotating nightlight. Emma hesitated in the doorway, staring. Even now that she’d found Regina, Emma still wasn’t sure what to do. Was Regina asleep? She looked asleep. If she was asleep, Emma didn’t want to wake her.

And if she wasn’t asleep? Emma searched anxiously for a rise and fall in Regina’s shoulders. Gazing at that still, still form, Emma found she desperately didn’t want to dwell on Regina not just being asleep.

“Are you going to stand in my hallway all night, Ms. Swan, or did you come here for a specific purpose?”

Emma jumped guiltily. Regina’s voice was hoarse and scratchy, from crying or disuse, Emma didn’t know. Maybe both. Probably both.

“No, I—how did you know it was me?” Which was, Emma thought in retrospect, one of the more idiotic things she could have asked.

“There are few people who would come to the Evil Queen’s house on their own. Besides which, you were calling my name for several minutes.”

“Right, I—you didn’t answer.”

“No,” Regina agreed. “Apparently you failed to take the hint.”

Regina stayed with her back to Emma, giving no cues from her body language. Other, of course, than the fact that the former queen was curled up in a fetal position on her son’s bed, which Emma supposed was language enough. Regina wasn’t the type to curl.

“Really, dear, hovering is beneath you. Whatever it is that you’re here to do to me, I suggest you get on with it.”

“You didn’t kill Archie,” Emma blurted, and through the soft blue light, thought she saw Regina’s shoulders stiffen, thought she heard a small shuddering breath break out in the long pause that followed. But when Regina spoke, her voice was steady.

“Is that all? You’re just here to tell me something I already know? Because I can assure you there are better things we could both be doing with our time.”

_Like lying comatose on your son’s bed?_ Emma thought, but didn’t say, before letting out a breath of frustrated air.

“I know you already know. I just—wanted you to know that I know. That we know. You know?”

“I’m quite sure I don’t.”

“You’re off the hook, Regina. You’re free.” 

There was another long moment of silence. 

“Well,” Regina said finally. “Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

Emma braced herself for Regina to ask what had changed their minds, for the need to bring up Cora. But finally seeing Regina in front of her, Emma thought telling her her mother was in town was quite possibly the last thing she wanted to do.

“Is that quite all?” Regina asked coolly. “Please forgive me for not showing you out, but as you let yourself in easily enough, I’m sure you’re capable of seeing yourself to the door. Do lock it again behind you.”

Emma opened her mouth, the news about Cora on the tip of her tongue. Because no matter how reluctant Emma was to share, she knew this was something Regina needed to know.

Instead, what came out was, “I thought I’d bring Henry by, tomorrow afternoon. After school. If that’s all right.”

This time, not just Regina’s shoulders, but her whole body visibly stiffened. When she spoke, her voice was strained.

“I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t use Henry as a pawn to alleviate your guilt. Kindly do not manipulate my son into coming here just because it would make _you_ feel better.”

“What? I—no—he—it’s not me trying to alleviate guilt. He’s been _devastated,_ Regina. He wants to see you. Needs to see you.” Emma didn’t add that Regina quite clearly need to see her son just as badly. She also didn’t tell her—would never tell her—about the apartment renovation plans Henry had drawn up just that afternoon, the spare bedroom he wanted to turn into an armory. _For weapons, and stuff? To protect us. From Regina._ And please, Emma thought, don’t let her find out, don’t let her _ever_ find out, because if this was hurt, Emma couldn’t bear to think about what that would be.

“Very well, then,” Regina said softly. “Tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yes.” Emma turned to go, unable, in the end, to admit to Cora. Tomorrow. Surely it could wait until tomorrow. But before she made it out, a low question came from the bed.

“What made you change your mind?”

The words were guttural, almost strangled, and Emma got the sense that Regina had been holding them in for as long as she could, that she hated herself for caving and asking. Emma bit her lip, and crossed the room, settling herself in Henry’s desk chair and fiddling with a paperclip chain.

“Ms. Swan?” Regina prompted, and Emma dropped the chain.

“Archie—he’s alive, did I tell you that part?—he showed up on our doorstep, and told us that Cora kidnapped him. She framed you.”

For the first time since Emma had entered the room, Regina pushed herself up into a sitting position, turned to look at Emma. The room was too dark for Emma to really see Regina’s face, but Emma could see that her hair was mussed, and her whole body radiated tension.

“My mother’s here?” Regina reached up to run a hand through her hair, and Emma could see it tremble. “In Storybrooke.”

“Yes.” Emma’s voice cracked with guilt, both for not understanding what had happened sooner, and for being a coward and letting herself make it this far into the conversation without admitting to Cora’s presence.

Regina took a breath, and it was small and ragged. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Emma said again.

Regina wrapped her arms around her knees, lowered her head to rest on them. When she looked up again, she seemed to have regained some of her composure.

“You can’t bring Henry here,” and her voice was steadier than Emma would have expected, though slightly flat. “Not with my mother…it’s not safe.”

“He needs to see you.”

“He needs to be _safe_ ,” Regina said, shaking her head. “I’m not…if my mother is here, I’m not safe.”

Emma didn’t know what to say to that, because it was probably true, and…fuck.

The room was silent, save for the unsteady hitched sound of Regina’s breath. 

“You should go,” Regina said. “Be with Henry. I need you to be with Henry.”

Emma nodded, wondered if Regina could see it, if she was looking. “Okay.” She stood up, looking at Regina still sitting on the bed, with her head turned to stare at the window. “Regina…” Emma said. Regina didn’t move. “I really am sorry. For not believing you.”

Regina said nothing, and after a long beat, Emma turned to go. As she crossed the threshold, she wasn’t sure if she heard, or just imagined, a tiny whispered “thank you” from behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

When Emma got home, she couldn’t relax. Every time she tried, she heard the tremble in Regina’s voice when she asked “My mother’s here?” saw the way Regina tried to hold herself together. It worried Emma through reading Henry a story, through watching a movie with Snow and David after Henry nodded off, through hot chocolate with Snow when David, too, retired to bed.

She didn’t tell them she’d found Regina. Emma knew Henry would want to see his mom, and Regina had sounded so definite—if heartbroken—when she demanded Henry be kept away. So Emma stayed quiet through the evening with her family, let them think her stress was from not knowing where Regina was.

Emma finally eventually gave turning her brain off up as a lost causeup on turning her brain off  after the apartment was dark, and she too had gone to bed. Rising quietly, she slipped back into her jeans and tiptoed out the front door, wincing as her keys jingled in her jacket pocket.

No one stirred. Relieved, Emma shut the door behind her and fled to the comfort of her car. It was late—almost one in the morning—but Emma knew that Regina was no more likely to find sleep than she was. Less, probably. So for the second time in the past few hours, Emma found herself parking in front of the house on Mifflin.

It had started to rain an hour ago, and Emma wished she’d brought an umbrella as she hurried up Regina’s walk, careful of the slippery stones. She huddled close to the doorway on the porch, pressing the bell with a shivering finger and shifting her feet back and forth to ward off the cold. For a long moment, Emma thought Regina wasn’t going to answer, before the door finally swung open. 

“Ms. Swan. To what do I owe the pleasure of another visit?” Regina leaned on the doorway with one hand, a glass in her other. She stood in shadow, the hallway dark behind her. Her voice was cool, even bored, but Emma could hear a warning in the undertone nonetheless. She began to wonder if she really should have come after all. 

“I came to check on you.”

Regina let out a slight huff. “Thank you, dear, but as you can see, I’m quite all right. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Regina moved to shut the door, but Emma shot out a hand before Regina could get it all the way closed. Regina watched impassively as Emma forced the door back open.

“We need to talk about Cora.”

Drawing in a sharp hiss of breath, Regina stared at Emma, dark gaze impenetrable. The rapid speed of her fingers tapping against the doorframe, however, belied the image of calm she was clearly trying to project.

“Damn it, Regina, just let me in. It’s raining and I’m freezing out here.”

For a moment, Emma thought Regina was going to go through with shutting the door on her. But finally, Regina sighed, and stepped aside, swinging the door open wider.

“Very well. Come back to the study with me. I have a fire going that should help with the chill.”

 

 

The study appeared to be the only room in the house with any lights on, and the fire did help warm the small space. Watching Regina walk into the room, Emma noted that she moved with the slow care and deliberation of someone not entirely sober.

“You’re drunk,” Emma accused.

“Not quite, dear. Though I do believe I’m getting there.” Retrieving a second glass from the side table, Regina filled it with ice and whiskey, and turned back to pass it to Emma. “Do join me.” She gave Emma a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Emma took the drink hesitantly. As Regina handed it over, the glow of the fire caught her features, and Emma got a good look at her for the first time that evening.

Regina’s skin was alarmingly grey. She had the deep purple bruising under her eyes that came with weeks of chronic exhaustion, and hollows in her cheeks. Her normally coifed hair look lank.

“Jesus, Regina,” Emma said unwittingly.

Regina arched an eyebrow. “Manners, Ms. Swan. Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s not polite to stare?”

“What the _hell_ have you been doing to yourself?”

“Ever with the tact.” Regina’s voice was more tired than taunting. Emma crossed her arms and fixed Regina with a hard gaze, while Regina shifted her weight, clearly uncomfortable with the scrutiny. 

“As it turns out,” Regina continued, trying and failing to keep her voice conversational, “absorbing a death curse does wonders as an appetite suppressant and general weight-loss aid. As, of course, do murder accusations and losing your soon. Sleeplessness is an unfortunate side effect, but as Gold says, everything comes as a price. I do think it could be a potential gold mine as a diet book. Don’t you agree, dear?” The smile Regina leveled on Emma was hard and brittle.

“Death curse?”

“That Gold and I cast over the portal to keep Cora from coming through. Well, Gold cast. I stood by and offered…implicit approval. Several weeks ago, when you and Snow were in the Enchanted Forest. Didn’t Henry tell you? He convinced me to draw it off, insisted you two would defeat my mother and be the ones to make it through. As, of course, you were.” Regina raised her glass in an ironic salute. “Here’s to happy endings.”

“You absorbed a _death curse_ because Henry told you too.”

Regina gave Emma a look she couldn’t read.

“Couldn’t it have killed _you_?”

“It tried,” Regina said shortly. “But it would appear I’m not that easy to kill. More’s the pity, right?” Seeing Emma still gaping, Regina let out a sharp laugh. “Don’t look so appalled. It was hardly a noble sacrifice. I was, after all, partially responsible for the curse in the first place.” 

“Yeah, but…”

Regina brushed Emma off before she could finish her thought. Which, Emma supposed, was just as well. She wasn’t sure what she would have said anyway.

“Are you just here to offer inane commentary on my appearance? I was under the impression you’d paid me this late-night visit to discuss my mother. But if I’m mistaken, by all means enlighten me.”

Emma sighed. How Regina managed to keep up her walls when looking—and clearly feeling—like death was beyond her.

“Yes, I’m here about Cora.”

Regina continued to regard Emma with that coldly quirked lip and questioning gaze. “Well then,” she said. “Let’s have out with what you really want to ask me, shall we?” She settled on one of the gold brocade loveseats in front of the fire, waving Emma to the other. Emma couldn’t help but be thrown back to the first time she’d sat with Regina in this room—drinking, she thought, this very same whiskey—after Henry had found her in Boston. 

That Regina had sat on the couch with ramrod straight posture, makeup and clothing immaculate. This Regina had her bare feet curled under her, and leaned against the stiff arm of the loveseat, looking more exhausted and hollow-eyed than any one person had a right to be. Instead of her usual polished clothing, she was in soft-looking sweatpants and a long sleeved back v-neck shirt that was clearly more expensive than many of Emma’s Target tanks put together. Emma couldn’t help but be impressed that even in her clear I-can-no-longer-be-bothered-to-give-a-fuck clothing, Regina still looked more elegant than Emma felt on a daily basis.

An uncomfortable silence spread out between the two of them, Regina watching Emma steadily with those tired eyes, draining her drink in a few long sips before pouring another. Emma wondered how much Regina had already had, and worried her lower lip. But at least, she thought, Regina was up, and talking, and breathing, and, well, after that moment when she’d first seen Regina lying on Henry’s bed— _what if she wasn’t just asleep_ —Emma was willing to take what she could get.

Instead of jumping into the subject at hand, Emma tried to catch Regina’s eyes, before offering another apology.

“I really am sorry. About Archie.”

Regina rolled her eyes. “I believe we already covered that subject earlier this evening.” Her tone was blasé, but Emma could tell by the way Regina’s eyes flicked away that she was still hurt. 

“I know. I know. But I feel like I need to keep saying it. Until you believe me."

“I believe you.” Regina’s weary voice immediately triggered Emma’s internal lie detector.

“No you don’t. And I don’t blame you. But…I really did believe you, at first. In the station. I did. And I should have trusted my instincts. But then after Pongo…”

“Pongo?”

“I extracted his memories. With a dream-catcher thing from Gold. That’s how I saw you—well, not you-you, but Cora posing as you—strangle Archie.”

Emma watched Regina’s body tense, heard her breath catch in her throat.

“You condemned me based on the memories of a dog?” The question came out strangled, and Regina clenched her tumbler so hard Emma almost expected it to shatter.

Emma opened her mouth, but no words came out.

“It—it never occurred to you to use it on me?”  Regina stared down at her hands, and seemed to be having some trouble regulating her breathing and keeping her voice steady.

_Shit_ , Emma thought. “I—I didn’t even think. I’m sorry.”

Regina swallowed hard. “Well,” she said finally, voice tight. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. And it’s not as though I have given you any reason to trust me in the past. So let’s move on to more pressing concerns.”

Emma could tell by the rigidity of Regina’s posture, the way she looked down into her glass instead of at Emma, the clearly forced evenness of her breath, that it did matter. It mattered a lot. But she could also tell that now wasn’t the time to push it. So Emma let this lie stand, promising herself she would revisit it later.

“Why would your mother want to frame you for murder?” Emma asked, and blushed immediately after posing the question. _Way to ease into it gradually_.

If Regina was startled by Emma’s sudden question, she didn’t show it. “To break me, dear,” she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Emma stared at her as though she had grown a second head, and Regina sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Surely this can’t come as too much of a surprise. You did meet my mother.”

“Break you,” Emma repeated. “You mean…like when she killed Daniel?”

Regina’s mouth thinned at the mention of Daniel’s name from Emma’s lips, but she gave a slow acquiescing nod. “Yes. But while that was one of Mother’s more…dramatic…victories, it was hardly the first. It was her pattern, ever since I was a little girl. She prefers me...reliant.”

“Regina…”

Regina shook her head sharply. “I’m sorry,” she said shortly. “We were supposed to be discussing my mother’s presence in Storybrooke now, not my past. You’ll have to forgive my ramblings. I’m afraid I’ve had too much to drink.”

Emma eyed Regina, taking in the constant fear that hovered behind her eyes, the pinch of her mouth, her white-knuckled grasp on her glass. “Or,” Emma offered, picking up the whiskey bottle and pouring a generous amount into Regina’s tumbler before topping off her own, “you haven’t had nearly enough. Because if any situation warrants copious amounts of alcohol, this has got to be it.”

Regina offered Emma a forced smile, and silence reigned again in the room, though this time it was at least slightly more companionable. Regina gazed into the crackling fire, leaving her gaze half in shadow, and Emma struggled to read the expressions that flickered across it.

“So,” Emma said finally. “What _do_ we do about Cora? How can we stop her?”

“We can’t.” Regina continued to stare into the flames instead of meeting Emma’s gaze. She drew a knee up to her chest, rested her chin on it. “Believe me, dear, I spent a lifetime trying. When my mother wants something…well. She gets what she wants.” Regina lifted her head from her knee and turned to look at Emma, taking a deep, steadying breath. “Mother…takes away the things I hold most dear,” she elaborated, trailing a finger around the rim of her glass. “In this case, that would be Henry. I cannot permit him to come to any harm. It is paramount we keep him safe.”

Even when drunk, Emma thought, this woman had a ridiculous vocabulary.

“Suggestions for how we best go about that?”

Regina took a deep breath, and nodded her head. “You take Henry and leave Storybrooke.” The idea clearly pained her, but she forced it out anyway. At Emma’s questioning gaze, she continued. “If my mother crosses the town line, she’ll lose her magic. That will, at least, make her slightly less of a threat.”

“And you?” A concerned frown furrowed Emma’s face. “You’d be coming too, right? If Cora doesn’t have magic, she can’t…”

“If I leave, my mother will follow.” Regina’s voice was low and steady, but Emma could see the glass in her hands tremble. “She may not have magic outside Storybrooke, but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t still be dangerous. We can’t risk it.”

“So what do you do?”

Regina looked down, absentmindedly swirling her drink.

“Regina!” Emma demanded, when she didn’t answer. “What do you do?”

“I…remove myself from the equation,” Regina said calmly, refusing to meet Emma’s gaze. She seemed to hold herself perfectly still while Emma tried to decipher her words.

“Remove yourself from the…” Emma’s voice trailed off, and her eyes widened. “No. No _fucking_ way, Regina. That is not an option, that is _not_ a choice!” She slammed her glass down onto the coffee table, and Regina shrank back slightly. “There is no way in _hell_ I am letting you do that to Henry.”

“I’m doing it _for_ Henry,” Regina hissed through clenched teeth. She tried to meet Emma’s angry glare, before she closed her eyes. Took a few shuddering breaths. Drained the rest of her drink. Filled it again. Drank. Breathed. When she looked back up, all the fight had gone out of her face. “Without me, my mother won’t go after Henry. Not outside of Storybrooke. The payoff wouldn’t be worth the effort.”

“ _No_ ,” Emma said again.

“Yes,” Regina said softly. 

The two stared at each other in a silent standoff. When Regina moved to pour herself another drink, Emma reached across the coffee table and grabbed her hand. Though Regina’s speech was still sharp enough, her movements were getting a little sluggish and unsteady, her gaze a bit glassy. Regina frowned, but otherwise didn’t protest when Emma removed the tumbler from her grip and set it on the far side of the coffee table.

Finally, Regina sighed, and rubbed her hands over her eyes. “I believe you should go now, Ms. Swan. It’s clear we are no longer having a productive conversation.”

“Like hell I’m leaving!”

Regina’s eyes gave a familiar flash. “You’re in imminent danger of overstaying your welcome, dear. Kindly don’t try my patience. I don’t believe you’ll be pleased with the results.”

Emma was unimpressed. She might have taken Regina’s threat more seriously if Regina were able to more successfully focus both eyes on Emma. As it was, the warning just sounded tired and empty.

“Threaten me all you want, Your Majesty. But if you think I’m leaving you alone drunk and semi-suicidal, then you are batshit crazy. I don’t care if it takes a fucking 24-hour guard. You don’t get to be alone right now.”

Regina gave her a sardonic smile. “Ever with the language. And may I ask whom you think you could enlist in this guard? In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t exactly have a fan club.”

“Then I’ll do it myself,” Emma said resolutely. “But I’m not risking you doing…I’m not risking you.”

“ _Ms._ Swan—”

“Not happening, Regina.”

For a long moment, Regina held Emma’s eyes with her familiar steely glare. Then she sighed, and her shoulders sagged. “I’m so tired, Emma,” she whispered, letting her head loll back against the sofa. Emma felt a lump rise in her throat at Regina’s rare use of her first name. “I just want it to be over.” Regina pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes closed.

Emma swallowed hard, tried to think of where to go from here.

“Look,” she said finally, “you’re drunk…”

“We established that, Ms. Swan.”

“And tired…”

“Also established. Do feel free to bring something new to the table, dear.”

“And clearly not thinking straight. We can revisit this in the morning, after you’ve gotten some rest. In the meantime, I’m not leaving. Discussion closed.”

Regina let out a long breath. “I can’t—” she said, “I don’t…” She pressed her head into her knees again, let out a few more shuddering breaths. 

Emma stared at her, heart lurching. She’d seen Regina upset before—when Henry was in the hospital, when they’d accused her of killing Archie ( _who you will_ ** _always_** _be_ ), when Henry chose Emma, time and again. But she’d never seen her like this. She’d seen grief. She’d seen fear. She’d seen betrayal. But this was just…wrecked.

Tentatively, Emma got up and crossed to Regina’s couch. Sitting down next to her, Emma wrapped an arm around Regina’s shoulder, and drew her close. The contact felt extremely awkward—Emma wasn’t much of one for physical affection—and Regina froze. Emma half expected to be magically flung out of the room. But despite her discomfort, Emma held on tighter, and finally felt Regina relax into her side, burying her face into Emma’s shoulder and letting out soft, hiccupping sobs. “It’s okay,” Emma whispered, over and over, leaning her own head against Regina’s, and gently rubbing Regina’s shoulder with the hand that was draped around her. Regina’s hair tickled Emma’s nose, and Emma could smell coconut shampoo. “It’s going to be okay.”

 

*

 

Regina wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that, head buried in Emma’s shoulder. Long enough for the fire to start to burn low, for a chill to seep into the room. Eventually, her crying began to slow, tapering off into trembling breaths that finally fell into a more even rhythm. She felt her head sink more heavily onto Emma’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she Regina whispered. “You must think I’m a total mess.”

“No,” Emma said, and the honesty in her voice surprised Regina. “I think you’re a woman who has had way too much thrown at her throughout the course of her life, and who, despite that, has remained stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. This is just you being human.”

“I hate it.”

Emma chuckled. “You should sleep.”

Regina sighed. “Okay,” she mumbled into Emma. She lifted her head, and had to close her eyes as the world swung around to catch up. Wiping the tears from under her eyes, Regina pushed herself off the couch. She stumbled, almost falling over before Emma caught her. The floor rolled beneath Regina’s feet, and her legs didn’t seem entirely inclined to hold her. Oh god, she thought, as the world played tilt-a-whirl around her. Apparently she'd drunk more than she'd realized. Leaning into Emma, a part of Regina knew she should be embarrassed. A larger part just really, really wanted to lie down.

“Whoa there tiger.” Emma wrapped one arm around Regina’s waist and draped Regina’s arm around her shoulder. Regina swayed in her hold. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“I’m fine,” Regina tried to tell her, but rising seemed to have made her head all fuzzy, and the words felt thick in her mouth.

“I can see that. Do you think you can handle the stairs, or should we aim for the couch in the living room?”

“I can handle the stairs,” Regina said, with as much dignity as she could muster.

With Emma supporting half her weight, she could.

Barely.

By the time they made it to her Regina’s bedroom—Emma bolstering her with soft words of encouragement (and maybe an aggravating touch of amusement)—Regina couldn’t conceive of a world that wasn’t spinning. Surely one had existed, once. She was pretty sure, anyway. Maybe.

Pushing back the covers on Regina’s bed, Emma dumped her down, swinging Regina’s legs up so that she was lying on her side.

“This is humiliating,” Regina mumbled.

Emma smiled. “Be humiliated in the morning,” she advised. “For now, just sleep.”

“Everything’s _moving_.” Regina frowned. “And there’s two of you. I don’t even like one of you. I cannot handle two.”

“It’ll stop moving tomorrow.” Emma perched on the edge of the bed, stroking Regina’s head. Presumptuous, Regina thought, but she could feel herself drifting off.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, one last time, and darkness claimed her. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for this overly dialogue-heavy chapter. Hopefully future installments will end up more balanced.

 

 

\---

Regina awoke the next morning to a relentless pounding in her head, and a mouth that felt like it was stuffed with cotton. She tried cracking an eye open, and immediately winced. Jesus. What the hell had she…

Oh. She rolled over, burying her face in her pillow and whimpering as the events from last night came back to her. Jesus fuck. She couldn’t believe she’d let Emma—Emma-the-fucking-Savior-Swan—see her like that. What had she been _thinking_?

It was one thing to allow herself moments of weakness in private. Regina had spent more of the past three weeks crying than she would ever admit to anyone. (Bursting into tears over a paper-cut had been a particularly fine moment.)

It was, however, another thing entirely to turn into a drunken sobbing mess on the shoulder of the woman who stole her son.

Groaning, Regina pushed herself up into a sitting position, and pressed a hand to her head. She was pretty sure even her pinky had a hangover. Glancing down at her nightstand, she saw a glass of water and two aspirin laid out for her, the water sitting atop a piece of paper that said “drink me!”, the aspirin, “eat me!”. _Cute, Swan_ , Regina thought, giving an internal eye roll. She popped the pills gratefully, and drained the water.

Now. Could she stand? Regina pushed herself to her feet experimentally. She could, good. Her stomach rolled a bit in protest at the movement, but otherwise consented to stay in place. Shower first, she thought, picking her way delicately across the room. Then coffee.

She didn’t bother turning on any lights as she entered the bathroom and turned on the shower. Her head hurt enough as it was. And yet, despite the hangover from hell, Regina felt more rested than she had in ages. As she stood under the scalding water—as hot as it got—she thought this must have been the first time in weeks she’d actually slept through the night.

Regina hadn’t admitted to Emma last night just how bad the side-effects of absorbing the death curse had truly been, the nausea and pain that tore through her body in equal measure. The “welcome back” party at Granny’s for Emma and Snow was the first time Regina had made it out of bed in three days, and only determination that Henry not see anything wrong kept her upright through the evening. She’d rarely managed to sleep more than a few hours at a time since absorbing the damn thing, every muscle in her body continued to ache every goddamn hour of every goddamn day, and, almost three weeks in, she still had a hard time keeping food down.

Regina tried to credit the alcohol for last night’s sleep anomaly, but a tiny voice in the back of her head told her in was more likely due to Emma. Nonsense, she told herself, pushing the thought away. Now you’re just being ridiculous _._

After getting out of the shower, Regina rubbed steam away from the bathroom mirror. Taking a long look into the glass, she tried to see herself as Emma had last night. She was surprised to find she almost didn’t recognize the person in the mirror. Gone was the confident, put-together woman she’d spent her whole life cultivating. In her place was a hollow shell, with dark, lifeless eyes. Feeling uncomfortable, Regina averted her gaze as she brushed her teeth.

In an attempt to push away the image she’d seen in the mirror, Regina opened her closet and put on real clothes for the first time in weeks. It was almost like putting on armor, really. She contemplated doing makeup as well, but that would have involved looking in the mirror again, and Regina found she wasn’t ready to do that quite yet.

A quickly aborted trip into the hallway sent Regina back into her room for her sunglasses, before she was ready to try leaving the darkness of her room again. She wanted coffee so badly that she imagined she could already smell it. As she descended the stairs, her nose wrinkled in confusion. She _could_ smell it. That was way too strong to be a wishful phantom. She warily walked into the kitchen.

There, busying herself over Regina’s stove, was Emma. Regina cleared her throat, and Emma looked up with a smile. She took in the sunglasses on Regina’s face, the way she rubbed her temples while collapsing onto a bar stool at the island.

“That bad, huh?” Emma tried to sound sympathetic but was unable to keep her lips from quirking slightly at the incongruous sight of Regina Mills hungover.

Regina glared at her. “Do at least try not to gloat, Ms. Swan. It’s not becoming.” She looked at the mess of bowls and pans that was taking over her counter. “And what the hell are you doing to my kitchen?” 

“Making breakfast.” There was a clear _duh_ sound in Emma’s voice. “Did you know that all you had in the house was bread? I was worried you’d wake up before I got back from the store. But you seemed out pretty cold. I think the table dancing really took it out of you.”

Regina felt her eyes widen in alarm. “ _What_?”

“Yeah, it was quite the performance.”

Regina could feel herself start to hyperventilate before Emma seemed to take pity on her. 

“Kidding,” Emma said. “There was no dancing of any kind. Here,” she said, and poured Regina a large mug of coffee. “Start with this. Eggs will be done in a minute.”

Regina grabbed the mug like it was a lifeline. “Not funny. And I don’t want eggs. If I wanted eggs, I’d have had eggs in the house.” She was aiming for acerbic, but the tone that came out was something closer to petulant, making her wince a bit.

Emma gave her a look, and shoveled some eggs onto a plate. “Well, you’re eating them anyway.”

At Regina’s glower, Emma softened her tone. “Come on, Regina,” she coaxed. “You have to eat something. And it will help with that hangover.”

Regina accepted the plate reluctantly, poking the eggs with an expression of distrust. Under Emma’s watchful gaze, she took a small forkful. Nausea rose in her throat, but she forced it back down. She tried another bite. This time the nausea was more insistent. 

“I can’t,” she said, pushing the plate away. “I’m sorry. It was nice of you to—but I can’t.”

“You really do have to eat.”

Regina waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll make toast later.”

“Why do I get the sense that’s the only thing you’ve been eating? Oh right. Because _all you have in the house is bread_.”

“Well,” Regina tried to placate her, “at least now I can eat more than one slice at a time. Trust me dear, it’s an improvement.” Regina was kind of startled by the honesty that was coming out. Last night she could blame it on the whiskey. But this morning was another puzzle entirely.

“Fine,” Emma sighed. “Toast. But you’re eating it now, not later. And I’m putting peanut butter on it, so that you’re getting at least some protein. And you’ll only have yourself to blame if the hangover lingers.”

“Duly noted.” 

Emma turned to get the bread, and Regina studied her. Emma looked tired, and Regina wondered guiltily how much sleep she’d gotten last night. When Emma turned back around, Regina averted her eyes and busied herself with her coffee. Neither of them spoke, and both women jumped slightly when the loud ding of the toaster interrupted the silence. Emma piled the toast on a plate, and began slathering it with peanut butter. Regina couldn’t bring herself to look at Emma her as Emma slid the plate across the counter.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Regina asked quietly, accepting the offering (peanut butter spread more thickly than she would have done for herself, but she expected a protest would not go over well). “We’re not exactly friends.”

Emma looked startled. “I still owe you that second change chance I fucked up,” she said finally. 

Regina raised an eyebrow. “Second chances generally don’t involve sleepovers and homemade breakfast. Try again, dear.”

Emma shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know. Because I feel guilty?” This made Regina scowl, though she didn’t say anything. “Because everyone deserves support sometimes? Because you’re Henry’s mom? I—like it or not, we’re stuck with each other. Wouldn’t life be easier if we _could_ actually be friends?”

“I don’t have friends.” Regina’s voice was low, and she wouldn’t meet Emma’s eyes.

“Everyone needs friends, Regina. Besides…aren’t you tired of fighting all the time?”

Regina let out a long breath. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I am.”

“Okay then.”

Regina began eating her toast—slowly, with small bites to make sure it stayed down—and Emma claimed the plate of eggs Regina had pushed away. For several minutes, the only sound in the kitchen was the crunch of toast and the clink of Emma’s fork against her plate.

Regina finished both pieces—she had a feeling Emma would throw a fit if she didn’t—and carried her plate to the dishwasher, before bending over the sink and beginning to wash the pan Emma had used for eggs.

“Hey,” Emma said. “You don’t have to do that. I got them dirty.”

“I rejected your breakfast. I can at least wash the dishes.” Also, Regina thought, it gave her something to focus on other than Emma. Most of her instincts were screaming at her to get Emma the hell out of her house, to rebuild her walls and stop being so disgustingly vulnerable.

The rest of her was too tired to care.

That part won.

When she finished washing the pan, Regina poured herself a second cup of coffee, and offered the pot to Emma. Their hands brushed as Emma accepted it, and Regina shivered slightly at the touch. After Emma had refilled as well, she cocked her head towards the direction of Regina’s living room. 

“Come on. We still need to talk.”

 

*

 

Once they were both settled on opposite sides of the couch, Emma found she didn’t know how to start the conversation. Again. She wished they could have powered through last night. Then again, it was probably better to be figuring things out with a sober Regina.

Regina was staring down into her coffee, watching the steam curl up from the mug, when Emma finally spoke.

“Last night…” she began tentatively. “You said that Cora…likes you reliant. Do you think—does that mean that she has a plan for…after? Something she needs you for?”

Regina reflexively tensed at hearing her mother’s name. She wrapped both hands around her mug, twining her fingers together. “I suppose. Though I have no idea what that would be. When I was younger, it was to make me queen—I believe to live vicariously through me. Now…I don’t know what she wants. I haven’t seen her since I banished her to Wonderland. Up until recently, I thought she was dead. I can’t…read her yet. She could want anything from asserting dominance over Storybrooke—regaining the power I had as queen—to punishing me just because she can. I doubt she’s currently particularly pleased with me.”

“Don’t you think we need to find out?” Emma asked gently. “If her plan involves doing something to Storybrooke—that affects more than just us and Henry. You owe—”

“I don’t owe this town anything, Ms. Swan.” Regina’s voice was harsh. “ _All_ that matters is keeping Henry safe.”

Emma shook her head. “We both know that’s not true. You’ve spent the past twenty-eight years taking care of this place. Bitch about how much you hate everyone all you want, but are you really willing to let your mother destroy everything you worked for?”

“If it means keeping Henry safe? Yes. Besides,” Regina said, after a pause, “we don’t even know if that’s what she wants.”

“Again, dDon’t you think we need to find out?”

Regina scoffed. “And how, exactly, do you propose we do that, dear? Waltz up to her and demand to know her plans? Something tells me she won’t exactly be forthcoming.”

Emma swallowed hard, and took several sips of coffee to try and wet her suddenly dry mouth. She gave Regina as apologetic a look as she could muster. “Not us,” she said, when she’d found the courage to speak. “You.”

“Me?” Regina was clearly confused. “Why would she…oh.” Her voice trailed off. “You want me to join her,” she said dully.

Emma bit her lip at the expression on Regina’s face. “Pretend to join her. But yeah. Basically.”

“No,” Regina whispered, her voice hoarse. “No. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“No,” Emma agreed gently, “I probably don’t. But I’m still asking. For Henry. He can’t lose you. My plan may suck, but at least it keeps you alive.”

Regina let out a long, hollow laugh. “Alive, maybe,” she conceded. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t still lose me.” She exhaled. “At least dying would be a…clean break. Something he could be proud of. But joining my mother…how are you so sure I’ll come back?”

“Regina…”

Regina’s eyes were dark and fathomless as she looked up at Emma.

“Casting the curse…I thought it would bring about my happy ending through destroying the happiness of everyone it affected. That was the point. What I wasn’t expecting—what I don’t think I could have even understood—was for it to turn into a fresh start. Each year that went by—each year without magic, without power struggles, without mental and emotional manipulation and mind games—brought me a little farther away from being the Queen.

“When I got Henry…,” Regina paused, her face softening at the mention of her son. “It was…I held him in my arms for the first time, all downy hair and soft skin and milky breath—and I loved him more than I thought it was possible to love _anything_. And it breaks my heart every day that I ever made him doubt that love.”

Emma looked at Regina helplessly, no idea what to say. 

“Then one day, you showed up.” A strange half-smile ghosted Regina’s lips. “The Savior. I was _terrified_ of you. Of the curse breaking, and turning  back into the person I’d had twenty-eight years to distance myself from.” Regina’s smile turned grim. “The irony of my subsequent actions doesn’t escape me, of course. That in my desperation to keep you from breaking the curse, I fell back into being the person I hated so much.”

“Ain’t life a bitch,” Emma said, because she didn’t know what _to_ say, and then immediately flushed, because how in the hell was that an appropriate response? Emma braced herself for Regina to snap, but instead Regina just gave a low chuckle.

“Indeed, Ms. Swan.” Regina sighed, then, and rubbed her head, before looking back at Emma, lower lip trembling slightly. “I’ve been trying, so hard, for Henry. And I…I don’t want to be the Evil Queen again. Not with him in my life,” and Regina’s voice was so lost, so tired and scared that Emma had to blink against the sudden sharp prick of tears in her eyes. “If I let my mother back into my life, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop it. And if that happens—I don’t know if I could come back.”

“You will.”

Regina shook her head. “It’s how I am, dear. How I am, and who I will always be.”

Emma felt bile rise in her throat hearing her own furious words parroted back in Regina’s defeated voice. 

“You’ll come back,” she said, when she was finally able to swallow past the lump. “You _will_. You’re not that person anymore. You have Henry now, and twenty-eight years of distance. _You will come back_.”

Regina shook her head again, though this time it struck Emma as more reflexive than disbelieving. “I don’t even know if she’d buy it. And if she doesn’t, you’re not safe. Not you, not Henry. As long as she thought you’d…rejected me, she might have left you alone. She would have trusted that losing everything I’d built—being hated by my son—would be more than enough to break me.” Neither Regina nor Emma acknowledged that before today, it had been. “But now…she’ll know you came to me. And she’ll guess it means Henry knows I was framed. She’ll find another way to use him, and I can’t—I _won’t_ —let her hurt him.”

“Okay.” Emma tried to think through her options. “Okay. So…we don’t let her know. That you’re not alone. That you’re not broken.”

“She knows everything.” Some of Regina’s familiar disdain crept back into her voice. “Trust me, she’ll be well aware of recent developments.

“We can trick her.” Emma rolled the words around in her mouth as she formulated her plan. “Stage another fight. Make her think you’ve lost again. And I can tell everyone—”

“No,” Regina interrupted, and for the first time Emma heard acceptance in the broken syllable. “No one else can know. We can’t risk anyone not being able to sell it. There can’t be any loose ends. Everyone—they need to think I’ve gone to her.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Even Henry.”

“They won’t be nice about it.”

Regina let out a short bark of laughter. “I was hardly expecting them to be.” She let out a long breath and pursed her lips. “How do we do this?”

Emma looked at her, searching for more fight in Regina’s face. She didn’t see any. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or upset about Regina giving in so easily.

“All you have to do is throw me out the door.”

Regina started to shake her head.

“Come on, Regina. It’s nothing you haven’t done before.” Emma said it with a smirk on her lips, trying to make Regina smile. But the joke fell flat, and Regina looked away, guilt twisting her features. “I didn’t mean…” Emma started. 

“I know. It’s all right.”

“I can do the rest. I’ll do the talking, you just have to…”

“Look broken?” There was a slightly wild look on Regina’s face.

“Yeah.”

Regina nodded slowly, looking anywhere but at Emma. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.” She pushed herself up off the couch, straightening her clothes before starting to walk towards the foyer. Emma glanced at her in surprise. “We have to do his now,” Regina explained. “Or I’ll lose my nerve.”

Emma nodded mutely, and rose to follow. Regina had her arms wrapped tightly around her torso, and when she got to the front door, she turned back to look at Emma, eyes haunted.

“Henry likes cupcakes instead of cake on his birthday,” she said, “because he says it has a better cake-to-frosting ratio. His favorite is red velvet, and he likes it when you bake chocolate chips into the batter. Most people make it with cream cheese frosting, but he prefers fudge.”

“Regina…”

“He always tries to stay up past his bedtime, but gets easily cranky if he doesn’t get enough sleep,” Regina barreled on. “You’ve probably figured that one out already. He loves sugary cereal, but it makes him crash later in the day, so he should only have it on weekends, because otherwise he won’t be able to focus in school. He prefers his scrambled eggs to be on the runny side, not dry. He always wants bananas and chocolate chips in his pancakes. He won’t eat crunchy peanut butter—only creamy—and I still cut off the crusts of his sandwiches.” Regina’s voice was starting to waver, unshed tears pooling in her eyes. “We always go to the docks the first day school gets out; even though it’s still too cold to swim, he likes to wade. He burns easily, so make sure he always wears sunscreen, even if you don’t think he’ll be outside for long. You have to watch him put it on, because otherwise he’ll lie and say he did it when he really didn’t. He’s allergic to bee stings,” and now Regina’s words were coming out strangled, “not enough to be really dangerous, but you should still be careful in the summer. I promised him he could get a dog for his twelfth birthday, and he’s already started researching breeds even though it’s over a year away. He’s been learning the constellations, and he can already recognize so many, and I love him, I love him so much, and please make sure that he knows that, don’t ever let him think he wasn’t enough, because he is, he’s everything, he’s…” Regina broke off there, breathing too ragged and gasping to get any more words out. She bent over slightly, visibly trying to get herself back under control.

“Regina! You are coming back. Do you hear me? You’re coming back.”

 Regina rested a hand on the wall, and Emma had to resist the urge to go over and lay a hand on Regina’s shoulder, because she sensed that if she did, Regina would crumble into a million little pieces.

“We have to do it now.” Regina straightened herself with obvious effort and opened her front door.

“For Henry.” It was the only encouragement Emma could offer.

“For Henry,” Regina whispered. She gave Emma one last agonized look, then raised her hand and flung Emma down her walkway.

Emma was expecting it, and managed to roll when she landed. Regina had made sure she hit lawn, which Emma was grateful for. Still, she thought, she’d probably end up with bruises. Regina, eyes still teary, stalked out onto the porch when Emma picked herself up. Tears were okay, though, Emma told herself. Tears were good. Tears would show Cora…

Emma stood as tall as she could, tried to control the trembling that started in her body. “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” she snapped, and it was hard, so hard, not to send Regina a pleading _I’m sorry_ with her eyes, because what if Cora somehow saw it?  “Did you really think bringing me here would help you get Henry back? You think I’m going to let him anywhere _near_ you? You are every bit as evil as they say you are, and if you so much as ever _look_ at my son again, I. Will. Kill you.”

Regina was deadly pale, looked like she was going to throw up, and it took every fiber of Emma’s being to keep the look of false fury on her face, to not crumble herself. She watched Regina raise up her arms and disappear.

Yes, Emma thought dully, unable to turn her mind away from the look on Regina’s face, that should do quite well.

 

 

 

By the time Emma got home, she could hardly breathe from the horror of what she’d done, what she’d asked Regina to do. 

“Emma!” Snow exclaimed, as soon as Emma walked into the apartment. “What happened?”

“I—” Emma started, “I think Regina’s sided with Cora,” and the words felt so vile, so wrong in her mouth, that Emma started to cry, to cry and cry and cry. _What have I done_ , she thought. _What have I done what have I done what have I done_.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina staggered backwards. She’d thought she was ready for this. But apparently she wasn’t. Not for the actuality of her mother standing in front of her, and especially not for Henry to just be a glamour. (He hadn’t come for her.) Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t do this. (She had to do this.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring the cardinal sin of rampant dialogue theft from "In the Name of the Brother." Won't happen again, I promise.

\---

 

After the fake confrontation with Emma, Regina teleported herself to the secret room in her crypt. It was where she had spent the first two weeks following the murder accusation, before the absence of Henry had become too much to bear, and she’d taken herself back to her dark empty house.

Regina glanced tiredly around the room. She knew her mother would find her here. Quite frankly, if Cora had been in Storybrooke all this time, Regina was a bit surprised she hadn’t come already.

Maybe Regina hadn’t been broken enough.

She wasn’t sure how much more broken she could possibly get.

The awful hangover, exhaustion from crying, and general lingering illness from the damn curse on the well pounded relentlessly at Regina, and she curled up in an armchair, pressing a hand to her head and trying to swallow past the nausea. She closed her eyes, letting exhaustion pull her into an uneasy sleep. Cora would come for her. It was just a matter of time.

  

\---

 

_Regina is five, and having a birthday party for one of her dolls. Cora comes in to tell her to put them away and come downstairs for tea, and Regina means to, she does, but she tells herself just a few more minutes won’t matter, and then she would go downstairs and be a lady because a lady never misses tea time._

_But she takes more than just a few minutes, and when Cora comes back into the room, it is with the hard glint in her eyes that Regina has already learned to fear._

_“What did I tell you,” Cora says, and Regina opens her mouth to apologize, but it is too late, Cora is already reaching into Regina’s chest and pulling out her heart, and the pressure, the pressure hurts so much but Regina can’t even beg Cora to stop, because when she tries Cora says “Be quiet!” and since she is holding Regina’s heart Regina has to._

_Cora picks up one of Regina’s dolls with the hand that isn’t holding her heart. “This is your favorite, isn’t it dear?” she asks. It is. Regina had named her Mandy, and her head and hands are made of china, and she has glossy brown hair that reaches halfway down her back. Regina is always very careful with Mandy._

_Cora looks appraisingly at the doll. “I believe,” she says slowly, “I told you last week that if you kept playing with your toys after I told you to stop, I would have to take them away. Did I not?”_

_Regina still can’t speak, so she just nods._

_“And yet you did not obey me.” Cora gives Regina a cold smile and hands her the doll. “Smash it,” she says, her tone conversational, and Regina gapes, but Cora says “Smash it,” again, and since she is holding Regina’s heart Regina has to._

_Mandy’s head shatters against the hard floor as Regina bangs her down, and a shard of porcelain embeds itself into Regina’s palm, and Regina starts to cry, whether because of Mandy, or the blood, or the way Cora is still holding her heart tight-too-tight she doesn’t know. But Cora fixes her with a firm glare and tells her to “stop that babyish crying this instant and smile like a lady.”_

_And since she is holding Regina’s heart, Regina has to._

_Cora returns Regina’s heart that night before bedtime, stroking Regina’s hair and smiling softly at her. “I just want what’s best for you,” she says, and Regina believes her because her touch is so gentle and tone so sincere and isn’t that what all mothers want? She promises her mother she will be better._

_That was the first time._

 

\---

 

Regina awoke to the rumbling sound of someone pushing her father’s coffin across the stone floor above her head. She rubbed at her eyes, trying to push away the dream ( _memory_ ), and wondering how long she’d been asleep. Rising reluctantly, she rested a hand on the top of the armchair to steady herself against the brief wave of dizziness the movement caused.

“Mom?”

Regina started slightly at the sound of Henry’s voice. She had been expecting Cora. Prepared for Cora. But Henry…she made her way across the room, waving her hand in front of one of the mirrors to see out. And there he was. Her son, her beautiful baby boy, looking for her, calling her…Regina stared at him, transfixed. She knew she couldn’t let him in, couldn’t let him come to her, because that was one of the reasons she was _here_ , to keep him _away_ from her, to keep him _safe_. So she just stared as he continued to call. She wouldn’t be weak. She _wouldn’t_. 

But she was. Because when Henry finally gave up, finally turned to leave, Regina found she couldn’t bear it, couldn’t let her son walk away from her one more time. Not when he actually wanted to see her. So she clicked open the hidden entrance, and he came to her, he _came to her_ , and when he wrapped his arms around her waist Regina found she temporarily couldn’t breathe. And then she was babbling at him, words tumbling out as she tried to tell him about Archie. It took her a minute to realize he had spoken, and she blinked as she processed his words.

“You knew? How did you know?”

“Simple,” he said, and then he disappeared in a plume of purple smoke, and Regina thought that surely, _surely_ she must still be caught in some sort of nightmare as the smoke dissolved to reveal Cora in his place. “Because I did it.”

Regina staggered backwards. She’d thought she was ready for this. But apparently she wasn’t. Not for the actuality of her mother standing in front of her, and especially not for Henry to just be a glamour. ( _He hadn’t come for her_.) Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t do this. ( _She had to do this_.)

“Mother…” she choked out, unconsciously backing up as Cora advanced. Regina’s head was spinning, and there was a roaring in her ears as her mother’s familiar voice washed over her. Regina swallowed hard, forced herself to focus.

“I love you,” Cora was saying. “I just…I’ve always shown it in all the wrong ways. And I _never_ should have made you marry the king.”

Regina looked away at this, desperately trying not to see Leopold enter her chambers while she sat in a frightened ball on the bed, feel the weight of his body on top of hers, smell his cloying mix of velvet and sweat and perfume, hear him whisper his dead wife’s name while pinning her arms above her head, his breath hot on her face, and it was so much, too much to process that Regina felt black spots beginning to encroach on her vision.

Regina used anger—warm, familiar, comforting—to pull herself back. “You framed me,” she said, voice low and hoarse. “For the cricket.”

“Temporarily. So you could see what these people really think of you.”

“You made an airtight case, anyone would believe it.”

“I didn’t want you to reject me. Not again.”

Regina shook her head mechanically. “You wanted me _broken_ ,” and she had to push down the hysterical laughter bubbling in the back of her throat. Because what Cora wanted, Cora got. 

“Receptive.”

At this, Regina did laugh. ”You are the most manipulative…” she trailed off. “No. I won’t even argue. Come with me. We’re going to town.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“I don’t care. We’ll wake them up. Emma, and Henry, and the two idiots…and _you_ can tell them how _you_ lied. You owe me that.”

This wasn’t the plan. Regina wasn’t supposed to be pushing Cora, antagonizing her. Questioning her. Making demands. But Regina was so, so tired, and faced with the reality of her mother, she scrabbled at any way she could get out of this. And Cora had said she loved her, and _apologized_. Cora never apologized. Maybe Cora really did just want to make amends, and Regina could turn her over to the damn idiots, and they could all figure something out together, and it would be _over,_ it could all be over, and she wouldn’t have to worry about Henry, because Cora was sorry and she loved Regina and didn’t want to hurt her anymore. Right? Cora would do it, because she didn’t want Regina to reject her.

“For you, sweetheart. Anything.” 

_Anything_ , Regina repeated to herself, fighting tooth and nail against the part of her brain that was telling her this was a trap, that Cora was just telling her what Regina wanted to hear, that there was a bigger manipulation in play. _No_ , Regina told this part of herself. Cora’s feelings were real. They were. They _had_ to be. She’d said she would do anything for Regina, and she would, she would do this. She was sorry and she loved Regina, and everything was going to be okay.

 

 

The other shoe dropped halfway through the car ride, when Cora reached down under her seat and fished out the ceramic handprint Henry had made for her when he was four. “Oh, look,” Cora said, a smile curving onto her face. “ ‘For Mommy.’ Oh. That used to be you.”

Regina’s stomach twisted at the false coo in Cora’s voice, the thought of Cora in her house, going through her things, finding what she knew would affect her daughter the most. Her hands trembled on the wheel, because Cora was still manipulating her, and damn it, that meant there was some kind of end game. She pulled her car to the side of the road, not trusting herself to drive any more. More than anything, she wanted to throw a temper tantrum, to scream and kick and cry and throw things until this all went away. Instead, she forced herself to take deep breaths.

Cora’s voice was honey-smooth as she continued to talk. “Let’s be honest, dear. Taking me to be pilloried by the town might gain you _some_ points, but as long as Emma and her parents are here, he’s not really yours. Not like he was when he made things for his one and only Mommy. You’ve been too bad for too long. And now they see you as a snake. You don’t want their love at all. What do you want?”

“My son back,” Regina whispered, hating herself for letting her mother get the words out of her.

“And I want my daughter back. I meant everything I said earlier. I am so sorry. I can do better. I won’t push you away again. Let me into your heart. Together, we can get him back again.”

And here it was, Regina thought. Cora’s ploy to get Regina back on her side. Her move, now.

“How?” Regina whispered. She leaned into Cora’s embrace, revolted by the closeness while craving it at the same time. Even after all these years, Regina still couldn’t turn off the part of her that longed for Cora’s approval.

A bit of Regina prayed that Cora would come out with her plans right there. Regina could pass the information along to Emma, and that would be it. But of course, it wasn’t that simple.

“Oh,” Cora said, “I have a few thoughts,” and Regina focused again on taking deep breaths, trying her damndest not to fall to pieces as she inhaled her mother’s familiar ( _terrifying_ ) ( _comforting_ ) scent. She could do this. For Henry. She could do this.   

\---

 

Regina made the drive back to her house on autopilot. “Welcome home, Mother,” she said, as she opened the front door. “Should I offer you a tour, or did you already see everything when you went through my house earlier?”

“Don’t be petulant, darling, it’s hardly ladylike.”

Regina grit her teeth. “Of course. My apologies. I suppose I’m just tired. Shall we get some sleep? We can talk more tomorrow.” She led Cora up the stairs, ushered her into the guestroom. Please, she thought. Please let the day be almost over. 

Cora’s eyes wandered around the room.  “How lovely. Rather small, of course, but I suppose there’s nothing you can do about that.” 

Regina sighed. The woman had been staying on a pirate ship for the last several weeks, and she was complaining about _Regina’s_ accommodations? “It’s a perfectly decent-sized room, Mother.” 

“Yes, yes, of course. I don’t mean to complain. It’s just so different from home. But I’m sure I’ll get used to it.” 

“I’m sure you will.” Regina’s voice was tight. “Come on. Let me get you something to sleep in.”

Cora followed Regina into the master bedroom, wandered around in it while Regina rifled through her drawers for something she didn’t mind burning when Cora was through with it. 

“Well,” Cora said. “This is much nicer. Much less claustrophobic. I can see why you like it.”

Regina resisted the urge to rub her temples. “Would you like to stay here, Mother?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to be any trouble.”

“No trouble.” Regina hoped that the smile she plastered on her face didn’t look as fake as it felt. “You’re my guest here. I want you to be comfortable. Let me show you how the bathroom works, and then I’ll get you some extra blankets. I think it’s supposed to get cold tonight.”

When Regina came back later to make sure her mother was settled, she was horrified to find that the room was already starting to smell like Cora, and had to clench her teeth against a sudden wave of nausea.  Fuck. Maybe she would be staying in the guestroom past…however long this took.

 

Regina tried to settle herself in bed, tried to relax. Sleep. She knew that dealing with her mother would take all the energy—mental, physical, emotional—she had. So she needed to rest. But the shadows in this room were strange, the bed unfamiliar, and try as she might, Regina couldn’t turn her brain off.

_You’ve been too bad for too long. And now they see you as a snake_.

No, Regina tried to tell herself. No. This wasn’t true. She tried to think _I believe her_ and _I really am sorry_ and _I promise you will come back_. She tried to think about plates of eggs and toast, and the smell of someone making her coffee. She tried to think _I’m not risking you_ and _you are not that person anymore_. She tried to think about the warmth of an arm around her shoulder, the whisper of a voice telling her that everything was going to be all right.

And for a while, it worked. But every time she closed her eyes, Cora’s voice came back. _Now they see you as a snake_. And with each repetition, the remembrance of that warm arm was getting harder and harder to conjure, until suddenly all Regina was left with was _He is **not** your son he’s mine! And after this you aren’t going anywhere near him! _ and _I really don’t think that’s best_ speeding up into an endless, tireless loop, _that’s an interesting word choice since you already did you have to know I was hesitant to invite you now his heart’s going to break you are a sociopath I am taking back my son not your son he’s mine he’s mine he’s mine he’s mine_ _he’s mine he’s mine_.

Regina whimpered, and pressed her hands into her eyes, as though it would help stop the images tumbling through her brain. _Damn it, Emma_ , she thought. _What the hell did I let you talk me into_.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’d promised herself no more running. She’d promised everyone no more running, and while that scared the hell out of her, she was still going to fucking keep that promise. So here she was, once again standing on Regina’s porch, ringing the doorbell and waiting for an answer that never came. Once again fishing Henry’s spare key out of her pocket, and letting herself into a house she knew she had no business entering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I added a scene to the end of chapter four that I originally thought would make it into this chapter, because outline fail. Go back and reread if you so desire. Hopefully this does not provide undue confusion. 
> 
> Also, I should say that in my headcanon, other than Regina overhearing Snow and David talk about leaving her behind, and getting caught by Greg and Tamara after retrieving the trigger, the events of "The Evil Queen" mostly don't exist. None of that erasing-Henry's-memory or murdering-an-entire-village nonsense. 
> 
> Anyways. Onwards!

\---

It took Emma thirteen days after everything went down before she went to try and actually talk to Regina. Thirteen days since she’d run into Regina at the docks and almost spilled the beans about the…well, beans. Fifteen days since Snow asked Regina to crush her heart, sixteen since Henry tried to blow up the well. Nineteen days since Snow tricked Regina into killing Cora. Twenty-three days since Emma took Henry to New York without telling Regina.

Twenty-five days since Emma purposefully shoved Regina into the arms of the woman she was most terrified of. 

Emma knew she should have come before. But she hadn’t had even the slightest idea what to say. Honestly, she still didn’t. Because they’d made plans, and then everything had gone to complete and utter _shit_ , and all of it just made Emma want to run, run, run. Away from the conflict in Regina’s eyes when Emma had asked her in Gold’s shop to think about what she was doing. Away from the look on Regina's face at the well, the expression of betrayal raw and sharp when Emma had called her a bad person, the way she’d just stood there, frozen, when Emma and Neal and David walked away with Henry. 

Away from a mom who was still sometimes dealing with guilt by not getting out of bed, a son who ran around with _fucking dynamite_ in his backpack, and a father who almost shot her son’s other mother without seeming to think twice about it. Away from the fact that her son’s father was the _several hundred year old_ son of fucking _Rumpelstiltskin._

But she’d promised herself no more running. She’d promised _everyone_ no more running, and while that scared the hell out of her, she was still going to fucking keep that promise.

So here she was, once again standing on Regina’s porch, ringing the doorbell and waiting for an answer that never came. Once again fishing Henry’s spare key out of her pocket, and letting herself into a house she knew she had no business entering. 

Emma shut the door gently behind her, and followed faint strains of music drifting through the hallway, leading her to the kitchen. She found Regina on her hands and knees, scrubbing at a floor that already looked immaculate.

Emma shifted uncomfortably, waiting for Regina to notice her. “I think you missed a spot.”

Regina looked up. “Should I be alarmed at how comfortable you seem to feel inviting yourself into my home?” Her face was blank, voice flat and emotionless.

“What you should do is start answering your damn door.”

“Should I?” Regina tilted her head. “Because frankly, between angry mobs and murder accusations, that rarely ends well for me these days.” She sat back on her heels and regarded Emma. “Why are you here, Ms. Swan?”

There was no challenge in the question, just…weariness. She looked tired, and Emma wondered how she hadn’t seen it as soon as Regina had glanced up, before realizing she hadn’t noticed because she’d forgotten what a non-exhausted and beaten down Regina looked like. And in that moment, Emma wasn’t sure who she hated more for it, herself or Regina. She wanted Regina to keep fighting, because that was the kind of thing Emma knew how to handle. That was the Regina she knew how to handle.

But how long, really, can you expect someone to keep fighting, when it seems like the whole world is just waiting to beat them down? 

“I thought maybe it was time for us to finally talk. About…about everything.” 

“Because that, too, goes so well for me.” Regina kept her expressionless eyes fixed on Emma, and Emma found she had to look away from the nothing that was on Regina’s face. She leaned against the kitchen island and drummed her fingers against the counter, wishing that Regina would at least get up off the damn floor. It made Emma feel weird and off-balance, standing over her like this. But joining Regina on the floor felt like an equally strange option.

Emma wondered when Regina had gone from the threatened woman at the docks and the hurt woman in the woods ( _magic’s not the problem kid—it’s her_ ) to…this. Empty. 

“Look, about what I said at the well…”

“Yes,” Regina hissed, and finally Emma was able to see a spark of furious life in her eyes. “Let’s talk about the well. Let’s talk about how you managed to let my _son_ get his hands on _dynamite_. Bang-up parenting job you’re doing right there.”

Emma opened her mouth to say something angry, but closed it almost immediately. Because while Regina was clearly trying to piss her off, she was also kind of right. Henry had gotten his hands on dynamite and almost blown himself up under her watch. And she could blame Regina for a lot of things, but that was on her. It was on her that if Regina hadn’t been there, Henry probably would have fucking died.

“I’m sorry.”

Regina shot her a scornful look. “Sorry wouldn’t have brought my son back to life.”

“ _Our_ son.”

Regina sighed, and the tiredness etched back onto her face in full force. “Go away, Emma. Whatever it is you want from me…I don’t have it in me to give. So just go away.”

“I heard about what happened when Mary Margaret came to see you.”

It was an impressive non sequitur, even for Emma, and Regina blinked at her before adjusting to the change in topic.

“Just now? That was two weeks ago. I wouldn’t figure you as someone to be so behind the times.”

“You didn’t kill her. From what she said, she practically offered her heart up on a silver platter. And you didn’t kill her.”

Regina raised an eyebrow. “And you’re what? Here to scold me? Do I detect trouble in Charming paradise?”

Emma grit her teeth, wondered how Regina always managed to make things so damn difficult. “I wanted to thank you. I mean, I know things still aren’t exactly…okay. But. Thank you.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t do it for you, dear.” Regina finally pushed herself to her feet, began putting the cleaning supplies away under the sink. “I’m sure she told you my motives were by no means pure. Why go through the messy process of killing someone when they’ll do a much better job destroying themselves? Far more enjoyable to see it play out slowly.”

Emma let the comment slide. She could tell Regina was goading her again, and knew that no good would come of rising to the bait. Even if arguing was what they did best.  “I also…I also wanted to apologize for what happened. With your mom. I’d be lying to you if I said I was completely sorry that Cora’s gone. But it shouldn’t have happened the way that it did.”

As apologies went, Emma supposed that one probably did leave something to be desired. So she wasn’t fully surprised by the less-than-grateful look Regina leveled her with. 

“Your sympathy for my mother’s death is overwhelming. Would you care for a box of tissues?” 

Emma huffed, fed up. “Jesus, Regina. Could you drop the sarcasm for just, like, one minute, and have an actual honest conversation? I’m sorry you lost your mother. But she was dangerous. When we went into this, you knew that. What changed?” 

Emotion Emma couldn’t read flickered over Regina’s face, as Regina looked away. “I realized my mother loved me.” A hand drifted up to trace the scar over her lip, and Emma wondered what memory Regina was lost in.

“Regina.” Emma spoke gently, trying to pull her back. “You know—you have to know—that wasn’t real love.”

Regina gave Emma a twisted smile. “Your mother was similarly keen on belaboring that point. She was quite fond of telling me my mother could never love me. As you can see, the end results of believing her were…less than desirable.” Regina looked down, studying her hands. “My mother loved me,” she said again, more softly this time, and Emma got the sense that Regina was trying to convince herself as much as Emma. “Maybe it wasn’t love like you understand it. But it was something.” 

“She hurt you.”

“Sometimes,” Regina acknowledged. “But she wanted me. Whatever other motivations she might have had—however flawed her ability to love without a heart was—she wanted me.” 

Emma didn’t know what to say to that. Because she knew what that was like. Being willing to overlook so much if it only meant that someone wanted you. And she knew too that any attempt on her part to convince Regina that she deserved better—deserved more—would be met with blatant disbelief on Regina’s part.

“Henry wants you,” she offered. 

Regina laughed, then, hard and mocking. “Henry wants nothing to do with me, and we both know it. Any attempt on your part to convince me otherwise is simply cruel. Do you fancy yourself cruel, dear?” Regina cocked her head as she regarded Emma, a slight sneer on her face. “Or does taunting someone with something they can never have not count as cruel as long as it’s in the name of ‘good’? I believe that’s the party line your mother used.” She folded her arms across her chest, and tightened her lips.  “Now. As…lovely…as this visit has been, it really is time for you to go home, Ms. Swan. I have more cleaning to do.” 

“Your house is fucking spotless, Regina.”

“And I prefer to keep it that way.”

When Emma made no move to leave, Regina let out an exasperated puff of air. “Are you really going to be stubborn? Because I believe we have both proven by now just how adept I am at throwing you out. Do you truly care for a repeat performance?”

“Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out, after—after everything.” 

“Good-bye, Emma.”

Regina ushered Emma to the door, and Emma reluctantly let herself be ushered. She could tell Regina was serious about the throwing-her-out-bit, and, well, that wouldn’t get either of them anywhere. 

After Emma was outside, but before she had turned to walk away, Regina spoke again. “Emma.” There was a slightly calculating look on her face. “Before you go. Is there anything else you wanted to tell me? Any…developments I should be aware of?”

Emma’s mind flashed uneasily to the bean fields at the edge of town. Did Regina know about them? She couldn’t. Right? “What—what kind of developments?” She hoped Regina didn’t read too much into her stutter.

By the narrowing of Regina’s eyes, she did. She gave Emma a long, penetrating gaze, and Emma swallowed hard, wondered if she _should_ just tell Regina about the beans. If Regina did already know about them, and knew Emma was keeping the secret...Emma couldn’t really see that ending well. Was Regina testing her?

But if this was unrelated, and she didn’t know…Emma didn’t want to be responsible for revealing that information without talking to everyone else. Who knew what Regina would do with it?

“Nothing in particular, I suppose,” Regina said finally, and her voice was the coldest Emma had heard in a long time. “Thank you for your time, Sheriff. I do hope you’re enjoying playing happy nuclear family with Baelfire and my son.”

With that, Regina shut the door, and Emma hoped that she was only imagining the finality the sound made.

 

\---

 

After seeing Emma out, Regina leaned against her side of the door and pressed a hand to her eyes, giving herself a long moment before straightening back up and looking around her.

Emma was right. The house was spotless. 

Regina kept cleaning anyway. 

Vacuumed, swept, and mopped every floor. Scrubbed every stair. Polished the banister. Scoured sinks, toilets, and showers, until finally she glanced down at her watch and realized that it was after one in the morning. That she had been cleaning an already pristine house for almost twelve hours. That her back and knees were sore and aching from hours of kneeling.

That she was as exhausted as she could make herself, and probably still wouldn’t sleep.

As she creaked up the stairs and mechanically began getting ready for bed, Regina imagined she could feel every one of the sixty-plus years that made up what should be her real age. She sighed as she looked in the mirror. After twenty-eight years of never needing so much as a haircut, it was weird to see new lines and wrinkles—however faint—forming on her face. She scowled, shook her head, and turned away, grabbing a pillow off her bed before leaving her room and walking down the hall.

Not long after Cora came, Regina had started spending her nights in Henry’s room, lying on the floor and staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars she and he had installed on his ceiling last summer. They’d replicated actual constellations, because that was the kind of kid Henry was, her smart, amazing, wonderful son. 

She wondered what his life was like with the Charmings, if Emma helped him put up stars on Snow’s ceiling, or if Henry wanted to put absolutely everything that reminded him of Regina behind him. She wondered if The Avengers was still his favorite movie, if she would ever again have the chance to read a book with him, alternating chapters between them. She wondered how he had done with his first extended trip out of Storybrooke (she didn’t like thinking about his jaunt to Boston to find Emma). She wondered if he thought about her at all.

She lay there, and missed him, and thought about every single different choice she could have made, that could have made him love her. That could have made him believe _she_ loved _him_. She lay, and stared, and even after complete physical exhaustion and two sleeping pills, it was only when the glow of the stars faded into nothingness, leaving the room in total darkness, that she was able to slip into an uneasy sleep.

 

\---

 

_Regina is sitting in Granny’s, waiting for Henry. Everyone in the diner is glaring at her; many even vacated as soon as she sat down. But Regina doesn’t care, because her son wants to have lunch with her, and she can still feel the warmth of the phone call spreading through every inch of her body._

_Except he doesn’t come. Regina wonders, at first, if she had gotten the time wrong. But no. Ten minutes, he had said. She was sure he had said. She had even repeated it back to him. Ten minutes. But those ten turn into twenty, then thirty, and he still doesn’t come, and the clock ticks, and ticks, and ticks, and soon Regina can feel every glare, hear every muttered threat and curse. She wonders if they can see the moment her hands start to shake._

_She leaves a twenty on the table for her two-dollar coffee, doesn’t bother waiting for change. Isn’t even entirely certain that Granny would give her change; just ordering the coffee had been struggle enough. Only after Regina had said the magic word ‘Henry’ had Granny relented and allowed Regina a booth. And now he isn’t even here._

_The coffee burns a hole in Regina’s stomach as she goes back to her office, checks her messages with the hope there is a reason she spent 45 minutes waiting in a diner for a son who never came. But there’s nothing, and it’s then that she finds her skeleton keys are missing, and her body feels heavy, so heavy, as she calls David and asks him to retrieve Henry from the mausoleum where she knows he is. Her mind is numb as she resumes packing up her office; she considers stopping, leaving, letting them throw everything away, because how is she supposed to fucking care about any of this? But she keeps going, because even if it doesn’t matter, if she doesn’t care, it is something to do, and Regina finds she desperately needs something, anything to do. When she is finished, she goes home, cries so much she makes herself throw up, and doesn’t get out of bed for five days._

 

\---

 

When Regina woke up, there were tear-tracks on her cheeks, and the pain of losing Henry was still sharp in her chest. Her mind drifted to the bean fields, to Snow and David’s plan to leave her behind. To Emma willfully pretending she knew nothing about it. To the possibility that if she didn’t act soon, she might never see her son again.

No. She couldn’t let that happen. 

Regina thought about a diamond guarded by a dragon, and knew what she had to do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma didn’t say anything. But she met Regina’s turbulent gaze evenly, and tried to convey with her eyes that she believed her. That she saw her. That she knew what the look on Regina’s face meant. That she wasn’t going to call her crazy. Wasn’t going to tell her not to feel. Would never tell her not to feel. Or what to feel. Was just asking her to come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for implied marital rape

The sea was completely calm, barely a ripple for as far as Regina could see. No land for as far as Regina could see, either. Just sun, so bright on the water it made her eyes hurt, and the occasional cloud off in the distance. She closed her eyes and tried not to dwell on how far she was from Henry, how scared he must be.

Oh _Henry_. 

Thinking about her son, it took everything Regina had not to crumble. Because all she’d ever wanted was for him to be loved, and safe, and now, because of her, he was facing god only knows what horrors.

He was kidnapped by a man Regina had driven insane, a man who had tortured her gleefully for hours, and just the thought about what Greg might try and do to Henry made Regina sure she would be heaving over the side of the ship if she had anything in her to throw up.

He was being taken to a being even Rumpelstiltskin was afraid of.

He was lost and alone, and all Regina could do was stand on this damn ship in the middle of this damn windless ocean, and pray that he knew she was coming for him, pray that he could hold on until they got there. She thought about the way he would call out for her when he was little and had nightmares, the way he would wrap his arms around her neck and nuzzle his face into her neck while she held him close, rubbing circles on his back and whispering _mami’s Mommy’s here. Mami’s Mommy’s always here_. But now he was trapped in a situation that had to be worse than any nightmare, and she wasn’t there. She had promised him, and she wasn’t there.

“So apparently without any wind, we’re just…what. Stuck here?”

Regina jumped, turned away from the water. Emma held up a mollifying hand as she moved to stand next to Regina.

“So Hook says.” Regina reached up to pass one hand over her face, kept the other firmly on the ship’s railing, wood warm and smooth beneath her fingers. Hoped Emma couldn’t see how desperately she needed the support to stay upright.

Emma gave Regina a once-over, and by the narrowing of her eyes, Regina could tell she wasn’t fooled for a second.

“Maybe you should use the time to get some rest.”

Regina shook her head absently. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

_Because when she closed her eyes, she saw Henry pulled into that portal by the two anti-magic psychopaths while she stood by helplessly, power too drained to so much as light a candle._

_Because when she lay down, all she could feel was a cold table, tight bands on her arms and legs, and white-hot pain, blindingtearingburning._

_Because dreaming might let her into a world where she went down with the trigger and Henry’s life was safe, and she didn’t think she could stand waking up from that to this._

But Regina couldn’t admit to any of that. Instead, she raised a scornful eyebrow and asked Emma, “Can you?”

Emma hardened her gaze. “I spent about a minute pouring my magic into the trigger. You used almost all of yours. And I wasn’t almost electrocuted to death less than five hours ago.”

“An enviable experience, to be sure.” Regina turned away, resumed gazing out across the sea. She waited for Emma to take the hint and leave, but instead, Emma stepped forward, standing close enough to Regina that their arms brushed.

“What they did…”

“Is not open for discussion.”

Emma opened her mouth to argue, and Regina all but growled at her. “Drop it, Emma.”

Sighing, Emma acquiesced, turning away so that she too was staring out at the ocean. A heavy silence fell between them, thick and weighted from everything left unsaid. When Emma finally spoke again, Regina had stopped expecting her to.

“Look,” Emma said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you…um. After Greg and Tamara…I left you spare clothes, in case you wanted to change. But you’re wearing your own. I mean, you did change. But they’re your clothes.”

Regina frowned. “I didn’t mean to offend you…”

“No,” Emma cut her off. “That’s not it. I wasn’t offended. I just…did you go home?”

Wondering where on earth Emma could possibly be going with this, Regina shook her head. “No. There wasn’t time.”

“You poofed them.”

“Yes. I ‘poofed’ them.”

“Like Gold poofed the globe, before we left Storybrooke.”

Regina nodded mutely. Emma seemed agitated, reaching up with one hand to toy with her necklace while drumming the fingers of the other on the ships railing. Her face was strained, and Regina noticed she looked as though she was struggling to hold back tears.

“Emma,” she said gently. “What are you getting at?”

“Could you…now that we’re in Neverland…can’t you just…do that to Henry? Bring him here?”

_Oh_.

The longing and pleading in Emma’s voice was so sharp and acute that it physically hurt Regina to hear, and she had to close her eyes against the pain. 

“It doesn’t work like that.” Regina could see how lost and broken Emma looked—about as lost and broken as she herself felt—and so she tried to keep her voice soft, even though a large part of her strongly wanted to snap.

“Snow said your mom did it to Johanna at the clock tower when the two of you were after the dagger.”

Regina winced involuntarily, because Johanna…well, Johanna still hurt. That was a death that was never supposed to have happened.

“She did. But magically summoning people—and things, for that matter—it’s not just about knowing what it is you want to summon. You also have to know, and be able to visualize, where it’s coming from.”

“Can’t you get a location from the globe?”

Regina shook her head. “Coordinates aren’t enough. Like I said, I need a visual.”

“Can you poof yourself to him?”

Regina sighed, and resisted the urge to rub at the growing headache behind her eyes. “Same rules apply.” She tried not to feel guilty over how crestfallen Emma looked. “Do you really think I would still be standing on this ship instead of going to my son, if it were that simple?”

Emma offered her a lopsided, halfhearted smile. “Okay, fair. And I guess I don’t really want you to splinch yourself trying, so…”

Regina blinked, baffled. “Splinch?”

“Seriously, Regina?” Emma raised both of her eyebrows, looking incredulous. “You have an eleven-year-old son, and you haven’t ready Harry Potter?”

“I read the first three,” Regina defended. “I don’t recall any…splinching.”

“Yeah, I guess that comes later. Why’d you stop after the first three? They just keep getting better.”

Regina turned away, feeling a dull ache in her chest. “Henry and I were reading them together. It wasn’t long after we finished the third book that he decided he…no longer wished to partake in such activities with me. I didn’t see the point in continuing on my own.”

Regina could still remember coming home from the bookstore with the fourth book, the tremulous smile on her face when she’d asked Henry if he wanted to start it that night. It was shortly after he’d found out he was adopted—that, well before any of the fairytale business, was what had first distanced Henry from her—and Regina had been desperately trying to find a way to win back his love. His trust. But he had simply shrugged, and told her that he didn’t feel like reading together anymore.

Now, Regina swallowed hard, trying not to notice the look of pity Emma on Emma’s face. Emma reached out a hand, and lay it over the one Regina still had resting on the railing.

“Guess I know what to plan for family time when we all make it out of this mess.”

Regina’s eyes burned, and she sucked in a sharp breath at the unexpected jab. “You might have to start over from the beginning,” she said, hating the crack in her voice that betrayed just how close she was to tears. “I doubt Snow and David have read any of them.” She snatched her hand away, but before she could leave, Emma pulled her back.

“I meant us, Regina.”

“Us?”

“Yeah. You, me, the kid? Us.”

Regina’s tears started to fall in earnest, the kindness somehow harder to take than the perceived insult, and damn it, she thought, when the hell had she turned into one of those people who cried over so much? _Everything_ set her off these days, and it was maddening, it was…god. Regina pressed her free hand over her mouth—Emma was still stubbornly holding onto the other one—and tried to choke back the sobs that were shuddering her frame, and fuck everything, she couldn’t believe she was having a _second_ meltdown in front of Emma.

Emma spoke softly. “You’re always going to be his mom. I’m done trying to pretend otherwise, I promise. I just…I just want us all to get along.”

Regina cried harder. Hoped like hell that the other idiots on board had the good sense to stay away from this corner of the ship, because having Emma see this was humiliating enough; Regina was pretty sure she would start blasting things if anyone else bore witness to this level of weakness.

Emma didn’t say anything more. Just kept holding Regina’s hand while Regina struggled to get herself back under control. When Regina finally wiped the last of the tears off her face, Emma gave her a tug.

“Come on. They’re working on lunch. And don’t even try to tell me you’re not hungry, because I don’t care.”

Regina snorted. “Of course you don’t,” she said, and let herself be led.

 

 

*

 

Lunch proved to be…not quite the affair Emma was hoping for. The provisions on Hook’s ship were less than desirable, and though David had tried to fish, his efforts were so far proving unsuccessful. Gold flat-out refused to use magic to conjure anything. The galley smelled absolutely awful, like fish and rum and years of men, and Emma was starting to think that if they just stayed in here long enough they’d all lose their appetites anyway. 

Regina stayed quiet throughout the bickering, merely shooting Emma a look that clearly read _I can’t believe you dragged me over for this_ while Emma gave her what she hoped was her best apologetic smile. After a good ten minutes of Hook and Charming and Snow and Gold arguing, Emma heard Regina let out a long sigh.

“I can conjure something,” she said, and the room fell into a surprised silence, all heads turning to her. “Since the rest of you are clearly incompetent. What do you want?”

“Not an option,” David said, at the same time Emma was telling her “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Regina blinked at both of them.

“We’re not eating anything touched by your magic,” David elaborated. “God only knows what kind of poison you might put in it.”

“This from the man who claimed we were ‘family’ less than a day ago,” Regina scoffed. She turned then to Emma. “And is that how you feel as well, dear?” Regina’s face and voice were cold, but her eyes flashed with hurt.

“ _No_ ,” Emma said quickly. “I’d eat anything you conjure. Really. I’m sure you conjure great food. But you’re tired from…everything, and I don’t think you should be using your magic for something so trivial. Not when I’m sure we could come up with some other option if we just think hard enough.”

Emma was relieved to see Regina relax slightly, looking partially mollified. “Thank you for your concern, but my energy levels are perfectly all right. Now, do I need to indulge you with one of your ridiculous cheeseburgers, or can I convince you to try something healthier?” The corners of Regina’s mouth twitched in a teasing smirk, and Emma couldn’t help the slow answering smile that spread across her own face.

But before Emma could respond, David broke in again. “I won’t allow my family near your food,” he repeated. “We may be trying to work together for Henry, but my trust in you only extends so far.”

“Go hungry, then.” Regina’s tone was biting. “But need I remind you, _Charming_ , that the last person on this ship to actually kill anyone is your wife. So do try to think on that while throwing around claims of who can be trusted.”

Emma expected Snow to flush with the omnipresent shame that accompanied every reminder of Cora’s death. But for the first time since the incident, Snow just looked angry, face flushed and eyes flashing in a way that made Emma herself take a step backward, for all the glare wasn’t directed at her. Regina, she noted, simply took it in stride, head cocked and derisive sneer back in place.

“You know what?” Snow said. “I am _done_ letting you make me feel guilty for what I did to Cora. She was trying to kill my family! I did what I had to do. And I have since atoned.”

Now Regina looked completely incredulous. Her nostrils flared, and her hands clenched to fists at her side, and Emma could see, in that moment, just how hard Regina was struggling not to reach up and yank Snow’s heart from her chest.

“Atoned?” Regina spat. “Atoned? You _killed my mother_. Do you really think there’s atonement for that?”

“And you killed my father!”

Emma froze, because oh shit, this familiar fight was going downhill quickly. She thought about trying to intervene, because Snow was advancing on Regina now, completely furious, and Regina, Regina looked like she was ready to incinerate everyone on the ship.

Snow barreled on. “My _father_ , Regina. Who, unlike Cora, was a good person! A good father. A good king. A good _husband_ , who was never anything but kind to you! And you killed him just to hurt me!”

Regina reached out a hand and slammed Snow across the galley with her magic, Snow hitting the wall with a loud thump. When David made to rush Regina, she slammed him back too, though Emma got the sense that this action was mostly reflexive, Regina’s eyes never leaving Snow.

When Regina spoke, her voice was soft and deadly, somewhere between a hiss and a growl. “Leopold may have been a good father. A good king. But don’t you _dare_ presume to tell me what kind of husband he was.”

The look on her face…Emma wasn’t sure she even had words for the look on Regina’s face. Rage, yes. But also anguish. Bitterness. Grief. Fear. More kinds of pain than Emma could name.

And Emma got it. She’d seen that look in countless foster homes. Wives. Daughters. Girlfriends. Other kids. She got it. She saw it. And all it took was one quick glance at Snow to confirm that her mother didn’t. Had never seen it. Probably _would_ never see it, and Emma loved Snow, she did, but that moment of realization made her so angry she almost couldn’t breathe.

Regina was practically crackling with energy, and Emma didn’t know just how much damage Regina could do with those fireballs, but she was pretty sure she didn’t want to find out.

So Emma swallowed hard and took a step forward. “Regina,” she said softly. She started to reach out a hand to lay on Regina’s shoulder, but drew it back without making contact, because this was not the time to touch Regina without her permission.

Regina was still staring at Snow, so Emma said it again, a little louder this time. “Regina.”

Regina spun around to face her, and in her furious eyes, Emma could read the despair and impotent fury of a woman who knew she would never be believed. _He’s a good man. He wouldn’t do that. He’s so well-loved. You must be mistaken. You’re not remembering right. You’re crazy. You’re making it up. You’re trying to cause trouble._

Emma didn’t say anything. But she met Regina’s turbulent gaze evenly, and tried to convey with her eyes that she believed her. That she saw her. That she knew what the look on Regina’s face meant. That she wasn’t going to call her crazy. Wasn’t going to tell her not to feel. Or what to feel. 

Emma wasn’t sure how long they stared at each other, fireball still crackling in Regina’s hand. Was only dimly aware (so dimly, in fact, that she would later think she imagined it) of the protective shield Emma herself threw up around the two of them when David picked himself up and looked like he was going to charge again.

Finally, Regina let out a deep breath. She closed her fist and extinguished the fireball as she looked away from Emma, then raised her arms in the familiar gesture that accompanied translocating. But the purple smoke that surrounded her was faint and wispy, and Regina vanished for less than half a second before reappearing exactly where she’d been standing, looking dizzy and confused. “What…” she started to say, and then all of the color left her face, and she collapsed onto the deck.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina lay there, wondering if she should say anything. Emma hadn’t exactly looked like she was in the mood to talk. But then the bunk overhead started to shake slightly, and Regina heard the unmistakable sound of muffled crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for Leopold continuing to be a fuckwad. (Seriously. Fuck him.)

_She is enveloped by darkness. Regina feels weighted down and heavy, and everything aches. She wonders where she is. If she’s alone. She’s tired of being alone._

_Regina is relieved when someone places a cool hand on her forehead. The touch soothes some of the pain away, and Regina feels herself relax slightly._

_“For a smart woman, you can be a total idiot sometimes.”_

_The female voice is familiar, but Regina’s thoughts keep spiraling away from her, and she can’t place it. She thinks to open her eyes, to see who is taking care of her. But she is so, so tired, and her eyes don’t obey the command._

_The hand lifts, and Regina frowns, missing it. She relaxes again when she feels a gentle finger smooth over the wrinkle of pain and worry between her eyes, before moving to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear._

_“I need you to wake up for me, okay?” There is a slight catch in the voice. “I know you’re tired, and you can keep sleeping for a little while, but then…then you need to wake up. Okay? Please wake up.”_

_Regina wants to nod. She doesn’t like causing the voice distress. But she can feel herself drifting away again. She will have to comfort the voice later. For now, she welcomes the lack of pain that oblivion brings._

 

 

Regina’s first thought when she swam back into consciousness was that her head was throbbing. Her second was that the rest of her body hurt pretty damn badly as well, her third that she was in an unfamiliar—and wholly uncomfortable—bed. She opened her eyes, took in the wooden slats over her head. A bunk. When did she get in a bunk?

The throbbing in her head was getting worse, and Regina gingerly reached a hand up, hissing when it made contact with a large bump.

“Careful. You took a pretty hard hit when you fell.”

Startled, Regina whipped her head around, immediately regretting the motion as her world was once again almost swallowed by darkness. She felt someone lay a steadying hand on her shoulder. 

“Whoa there. Easy. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Regina blinked a few times, trying to bring the face hovering over her into focus. Emma.

Regina took a few deep breaths, focusing on getting the world to stop spinning. “What happened?” Her voice was dry and scratchy, and she placed a hand against her sore throat.

Emma filled a glass with water from a pitcher, and slid an arm around Regina’s shoulders, helping her sit up a few inches. She passed Regina the cup, and Regina drank gratefully.

“What happened?” Regina asked again after she finished, and was thankful that even if her voice was still a little hoarse, at least it didn’t hurt as much to talk. She let herself settle back down against the pillow.

“You don’t remember?”

She gave Emma a withering look.

“Okay, okay. What’s the last thing you _do_ remember?”

Furrowing her brow, Regina thought back. “We were talking about the lack of wind, and Henry, and then…” she frowned. “Then it gets a little fuzzy.”

“You don’t remember anything else?”

Regina’s gaze narrowed, and she fixed Emma with as much of a glare as she could manage without making her headache worse. “No. Now what exactly is it I’m forgetting?”

“Um…well, you kind of got into a bit of an argument with Snow, and tried to do the disappearing smoke thing.”

Emma shifted her eyes away from Regina’s as she said this, and Regina frowned. Clearly there was more to this story than Emma was telling. Such as what, exactly, she and Snow had fought about that was bad enough for her to do the “disappearing smoke thing” (in the back of her mind, Regina thought that she really needed to work on Emma’s magic vocabulary. Especially since the woman apparently had it herself). For now, she let Emma go on without interruption, deciding she’d press for the full details later.

“It didn’t really work right,” Emma continued, “and you collapsed. It was—um, it was bad. Even apart from the whole your-head-colliding-with-the-deck bit. We weren’t—honestly, we weren’t sure at first if you would wake up.”

“So sorry to disappoint.” Regina closed her eyes again, and thus missed the troubled expression that flickered over Emma’s face. “How long have I been out?”

“A little over twenty-four hours.”

“Twenty-four…!” Regina started to surge up, ignoring the way the movement made the pain in her head spike. Emma promptly shoved her back down, hands firm on Regina’s shoulders.

Regina glared up. “This is _highly_ unnecessary. I am _fine_. I simply…slightly overextended myself magically. I assure you, dear, there is absolutely no need for this level of theatrics.”

Emma threw her hands up, and started pacing in the small cabin. Trying to track her motion was making Regina dizzy—the rocking of the cabin wasn’t helping any—and she averted her eyes, grimacing.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Regina. You are not _fine_. You are, in fact, so far from _fine_ that I don’t think _fine_ should even be in your vocabulary.”

Regina chanced another look at Emma, and for the first time, noticed that the woman’s eyes were red-rimmed and slightly puffy. “I—”

Emma cut her off. “Your _heart stopped_ , Your Majesty. _Again_. Luckily we were able to jumpstart you. _Again._ That. Is. Not. Fine.”

“You make me sound like a _car_. And what do you mean, _again_?”

“It happened after you were…after Greg and Tamara…after Snow and David found you.” Emma reached up and ran a hand through tangled hair. “Your heart wasn’t beating. David gave you CPR and got it going again, and least until they got you to the Blue Fairy. She was able to stabilize you. Though when she mandated time and rest, I don’t think she was expecting you to go out and diffuse unstoppable magic diamond bombs before you could even walk straight.”

Regina wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that. She’d certainly felt like death, after…well, after. And during, for that matter. But she hadn’t realized just how bad off she’d actually been.

“My walk was perfectly fine.” Because clearly, _that_ was the important thing here.

“You are so—” Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath, visibly trying to control herself. She’d finally stopped pacing—much to Regina’s relief—and when she spoke again, her voice was calmer. “Here’s the thing. I’m still not entirely sure how all this magic stuff works. But Gold says that whatever you did with the trigger drained you enough to be…problematic.”

Regina nodded. Considering she hadn’t actually expected to survive pouring all of her energy into the damn thing, that made sense.

“Combined with the stress on your body caused by Greg and Tamara—and the fact that I know you’ve been doing a royally shitty job of taking care of yourself for I don’t even want to know how long now—well, he says that unless you actually take the time to rest and recharge—both your body and your magic—your whole system is in danger of shutting down. Like it almost did yesterday.”

“I have a hard time believing anyone on board this ship would be particularly broken up about that.”

Silence stretched out between them, and the level of distress on Emma’s face surprised Regina.

“I would be,” Emma said quietly.

“No you wouldn’t.” Regina dismissal was quick and certain.

“Seriously, Regina? I—you know what, fine. I won’t push it right now. But if you don’t believe that I care, at least believe this: in terms of getting Henry back? You’re kind of one of our key players. Your son is depending on you. So you don’t get to pick right now to self-destruct. Not with Henry’s life on the line.”

“I’m not—”

“Yeah, Regina. You really are. Do you honestly not get just how close you came to dying yesterday? I’ll give you a hint: really fucking close.”

Regina stayed quiet, trying to digest this information.

Emma ran a hand over her face. “Look. Hook says we’re at least four—probably closer to five—days from shore. And that’s assuming everything goes well. So here’s the deal. One: You are going to spend the next two days in this bunk, and _only_ in this bunk. You will not so much as get up to use the bathroom without my permission, and believe me when I say I will not hesitate to strap you the fuck down if that’s what it takes to keep you resting. So don’t even think about trying me.”

Regina thought about fighting her on this. Drained or not, she ought to be able to knock some sense into Emma with one good blast. But…if she were being truly honest with herself, she _was_ exhausted. More than exhausted. She felt like complete and utter hell. And while she still wasn’t sure she believed Emma about the whole heart-stopping-and-almost-dying thing, maybe it was better not to risk it.

So instead, she gave Emma as neutral a look as she could muster. “And two?”

“Two: You are going to eat what I say, when I say, because clearly you have grown incapable of feeding yourself.”

“Says the woman whose idea of cooking is cereal and pop tarts.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, which one of us spent the past day blacked out? And don’t worry. Pop tarts aren’t really a staple on pirate ships. I’m sure whatever we manage to cook up will actually count as real food.”

“Doubtful,” Regina muttered.

Emma scowled at her, but otherwise seemed willing to let the jab go. “Do we have a deal?” she asked.

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Well then. As I have no desire to repeat the experience of being strapped down—” Regina was slightly gratified that Emma had the grace to wince at the parallel she’d unintentionally drawn—“I suppose we have a deal. Even if I do still believe you’re overreacting.”

“You can believe whatever you want as long as you stay in that bed and don’t try using magic. Now. I’m going to get you some food, and then you’re going back to sleep.”

Emma turned to leave, and Regina almost let her go before biting her lip and calling her back.

“Emma, wait.” 

Emma turned to look at her.

“Why did I…why was I trying to translocate?”

Emma opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She looked acutely uncomfortable, and Regina frowned.

“Translocation is a highly energy-intensive form of magic. I wouldn’t have been attempting it without a strong reason. I want to know what that reason was.”

Emma was twisting her hands together while Regina stared, wondering what on earth could have happened to make Emma so reluctant to talk about it.

“Emma?” she prompted.

“You were fighting with Snow,” Emma finally said. Regina resisted the impulse to roll her eyes.

“Yes, dear, you said that much already. What were we fighting _about_?”

Again, Regina was met with silence. She sighed heavily. “Honestly, a conversation with you can be like pulling teeth. If I went so far as to translocate, the fight must have been more than Snow just being her usual idiotic self. So what was it?”

Emma let out a long breath. “It was…it was about Snow’s father.”

Regina froze. “I see.” She looked down, finding she could no longer meet Emma’s eyes, and wished desperately that she could remember what exactly had come out during the fight. Based on Emma’s reluctance to have this conversation, probably more than Regina cared for.

“I’m sorry,” Emma said. “I never knew.”

“And if you could see the look on your face right now, you’d know why. I have no interest in your pity. In anyone’s pity.”

“If you want to talk about it…”

“I don’t,” Regina said shortly.

“Okay. I just—I wanted you to know that I’m on your side.”

Regina eyed her warily, wondering if this was some sort of trick. But the look on Emma’s face seemed completely sincere. “He’s your grandfather.”

Emma nodded. “I know.”

“Snow idolizes him.”

“I’m not Snow.”

Regina crossed her arms over her chest, continuing to study Emma. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Snow White’s daughter having insight to this particular facet of her life. ( _Former life_ , she told herself. _Former_.)

It was, quite frankly, a novel concept, the idea of having someone on her side. Regina had never had that before. Not truly. Even her own father had dismissed Regina’s feelings as “cold feet,” and, later, “nerves over being a queen.” But for that person to be the Savior…well. That provided a certain layer of complication.

“You can go get my food now,” Regina said finally, trying to keep her voice disinterested. “Or I’ll fall back asleep before you succeed in feeding me.”

Emma nodded. She seemed as though she was going to say something else, but Regina resolutely looked away, keeping her face closed. Hearing Emma leave the room, she settled more heavily on the bed. Exhaustion seeped back into her bones.

Regina closed her eyes. Just for a minute, she thought. Then she would rouse and eat whatever disgusting concoction Emma offered, and the two of them could go about pretending this conversation had never happened. Just one more minute of rest.

 

 

Regina woke up to someone shaking her shoulder. “Go ‘way,” she grumbled, and tried to burrow deeper into the thin mattress.

Her words were met by a chuckle. “Nope, sorry. I went through a lot of trouble to get this food. No way in hell am I leaving before you eat it.”

“I could throw fireballs at you.”

“That would be breaking our deal.”

“Ask me if I care,” Regina muttered, but she opened her eyes anyway and pushed herself up into a sitting position. She accepted the bowl Emma passed her, looked down at its contents, and then back up at Emma, one eyebrow raised.

“Mush?” she said. “The food you went through so much trouble to get me is mush?”

Emma seemed slightly abashed. “Gold’s still being an ass about helping out, and this was all Hook could dig up. And I had to deal with some _seriously_ annoying attempts at flirting on his part before he would hand it over. So eat.”

Regina made a point of giving one last eye-roll before obliging. When she finished, she passed Emma the bowlthe bowl to Emma, who placed it on the floor before coming to sit on the edge of Regina’s bunk.

“Scoot over.”

“Pardon me?”

Emma waved her hands. “Scoot over,” she repeated, and started to lie down next to Regina. Regina let out a small huff of disbelief, but obligingly slid closer to the wall, half-expecting that Emma would go so far as to lie _on_ her if she didn’t make space.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked, side pressed firmly against the wall of the cabin so that no part of her was touching Emma.

“Hiding out from my parents.”

“And you are choosing not to do this in your own bunk because…”

“You looked like you could use the company. I thought I’d oblige.”

“Presumptuous,” Regina huffed, but didn’t deny it. Truth be told, she would rather not be alone right now.

There was, however, no need to share that with Emma. “Just so we’re clear, the only reason I’m permitting you to stay is that I suppose Henry wouldn’t appreciate it if I accidentally injured you in an attempt to forcibly remove you. And as this is _my_ bunk, I hardly think that I should have to move.”

“Whatever you say, Regina.”

“Also it’s cold.”

“It is,” Emma agreed. “And we certainly don’t want you getting sick. Sicker, anyway. I’d have to prescribe even more bedrest.”

Regina snorted, and Emma lightly knocked her elbow into Regina’s.

“How are you feeling, anyway?”

_Tired. Achy. Like a horse had stomped on her chest, and a hammer had taken up residence in her head. Like she missed her son so much she thought at any minute she might disintegrate into a million little pieces._   

“Better,” she said, and offered a small smile when Emma shot her a look rife with disbelief. “Less crappy?” she tried.

“I will accept less crappy. Especially since I never thought I would see the day when the word ‘crappy’ came out of your mouth.”

Regina smirked. “What can I say, I’m full of surprises.”

They lapsed back into silence. It was rather alarming, Regina thought, just how comfortable this felt. Comfortable, and yet terrifying that the same time, because Regina had long since learned that comfortable never lasted, that it was always only a matter of time before something happened to disturb the peace. That serenity only ever came as brief interludes between storms, and Regina was so, so tired of all of it.

Next to her, Emma’s breathing had grown deep and even, and Regina wondered if she’d dozed off.

“Emma?” Regina whispered.

No answer. 

“Thank you for being on my side,” Regina said. “Even if…even if it’s just this. Thank you.”

Next to her, Emma let out a soft snore. Lips twitching, Regina let herself drift back into sleep as well.  

 

 

 

 

_Regina is twenty-one, and the strange doctor’s attempt to bring Daniel back to life has failed. She gets back to the castle in the early hours of the morning, wanting nothing more than to curl up in her bed and cry, and cry, and cry, because the thought of getting Daniel back was the only thing that had kept her going—kept her breathing—for the two years of her marriage. (Three since he had died, and oh, god, Regina could still see his heart crumbling to dust in her mother’s fist, feel the way his body cooled in her arms, lips not responding no matter how many times she kissed them.)_

_But Regina can’t, because she has to spend the day caring for Snow, and that night Leopold invites himself into her chambers. He is drunk, which means he is rough. He bites her lip when he kisses her, hard enough to draw blood, (she tries to not think about how Daniel’s kisses had been softsosoft) and holds her wrists so tightly they bruise, his weight on her body heavy and suffocating._

_And as she lies there, still and unresisting (because she knows, by now, what resisting gets her) all Regina can see in front of her, stretching out for the rest of her life, is this same thing, night after night of Leopold on top of her, Leopold making her bruise, making her bleed. Days of being told that she can never live up to Eva, never be loved, and it’s true, she knows, she can never be loved, because Daniel is gone, really gone, and never coming back and this is it, she thinks, this is her life, forever and ever, no escape, no freedom. And she just…can’t._

_The next morning, Snow asks about the bruising on her wrists, and it is all Regina can do not to smack her, to tell her the graphic details of each night Leopold spends with Regina, every little thing he does to her, until Snow crumbles under the weight of what her beloved father is, the marriage Snow trapped Regina into. But she knows that would get herself nowhere but hurt. So instead, Regina finds Rumpelstiltskin, rips out the heart of his new apprentice, revels in the glorious moment it gives her of not feeling anything. She has nothing. She has less than nothing, she has abuse, and fear, and pain, and soul-sucking loneliness that is stealing her mind, little by little, and she. will. make. them. pay._

_Years later, when Regina tricks the genie into killing Leopold, her only regret is not seeing the look on his face when he died._

 

 

 

Regina woke with a start, placing a hand over her rapidly racing heart. _Damn_ Snow. She’d put Leopold in a box years ago, and damn the woman for bringing him out again. Regina closed her eyes, and tried to bring her heart rate back under control. Emma, she noted, was no longer lying beside her, and Regina wondered how long she’d been out.

She was considering getting up to track down a glass of water—Emma’s orders be damned, it was too fucking claustrophobic being stuck in this bunk—when the cabin door swung open, and Emma stormed in, slamming the door behind her. Regina raised an eyebrow, and Emma flushed.

“Sorry. Did I wake you up?”

Regina shook her head.

Emma didn’t say anything else, avoiding Regina’s eyes as she stalked across the room and climbed onto the top bunk.

Regina lay there, wondering if she should say anything. Emma hadn’t exactly looked like she was in the mood to talk. But then the bunk overhead started to shake slightly, and Regina heard the unmistakable sound of muffled crying. Regina bit her lip. Then,

“Emma,” she said softly. “Emma, what’s wrong?”

Emma sniffed. “It’s nothing.” Her voice was garbled.

Regina rolled her eyes. “Clearly,” she drawled. Her hands toyed with the edge of the scratchy blanket covering her while she listened to Emma take a few more shuddering breaths. “Emma, come down.”

No response other than more sniffling.

Regina sighed. “Please don’t make me break my promise about getting out of bed.”

Still nothing. “All right, have it your way.” Regina started to push herself up, wincing as her body protested. She was in the process of throwing the blanket back when the bunk creaked and shook, and Emma climbed down. She stood in front of Regina, hair disheveled, face red and blotchy from crying.

“Hi,” Emma said abashedly, and Regina couldn’t help but think back to their very first meeting, when Emma had stood in her driveway and offered a meek “hi,” in that same tentative tone.

“I’d ask if you were okay, but you’re clearly not.”

Emma rubbed her hands over her eyes. “I got in another fight with my—with Snow and David.”

It hadn’t escaped Regina’s notice that other than in the mines with the trigger, she very rarely heard Emma call her parents by anything other than their names. Good, she thought. Those idiots clearly don’t deserve the title.

“About?”

“When I hid in here earlier, it was about you,” Emma admitted, and Regina tensed, because she knew that no good could come out of that argument. She thought about pressing for more detail, but decided that in the end, she probably didn’t want to know. Going back to toying with her covers, Regina wondered if Emma noticed her discomfort, because before Regina could ask any further questions, Emma changed the subject.

“And now about Henry.” Emma shook her head, and Regina could see tears starting to pool in Emma’s eyes again, before Emma wiped them angrily away. “Which, maybe I could have handled if I wasn’t already pissed, but as it was, I just…I can’t with them sometimes. They don’t—they don’t _get_ it. And I don’t know if it’s because they’re willfully ignoring just how fucked the situation is, or if they are actually physically incapable of believing anything other than that whole fucking notion of ‘good will always win,’ but…all they did was talk about how I just had to stay positive. Like that’s some kind of fucking solution. ‘As long as you’re positive, everything will be all right.’ They seriously seem to think that’s the way the world works! They’re optimistic, all the time, and sometimes it’s comforting, but most of the time it’s just…”

“Obnoxiously naïve and delusional.”

“Yeah.”

Regina scooted over in her bunk again, and Emma accepted the unspoken invitation, lying down and stretching out next to her. They both stared up at the slats overhead rather than look at each other, and Regina wondered what she could say that might comfort Emma, when she was so completely incapable of comforting herself.

“Your parents…” she Regina started. “They grew up in a different world than we did. Quite literally from you. More metaphoric from me, I suppose. And they think that they went through hard experiences, but…they always had hope. Light at the end of the tunnel. They don’t understand what it’s like to live a life where hope doesn’t exist. Where there are no happy endings.”

“You do.” It was a statement, not a question.

“As do you,” Regina agreed. “Which I’m guessing is why you’re here.”

She felt, rather than saw, Emma nod beside her. Emma’s hair shifted as she moved, some of it falling against Regina’s face, and Regina noticed it smelled like salt from the sea air.

“Sometimes,” Emma said, “I just want to be around someone who understands what it’s like to be fucked up. To have everything around you be fucked up.” Emma rubbed her face again.

“That is something I’m intimately familiar with.” Regina’s voice was quiet.

Regina turned her head on the pillow, and found herself face-to-face with Emma, so close their noses were practically touching. Regina could see the glimmer of wetness on Emma’s eyelashes, and her breath caught slightly when Emma licked her lips.

Slowly, not breaking eye-contact, Emma leaned forward and tentatively pressed her lips against Regina’s. The kiss was light, at first, lips just barely brushing together. When they broke apart, Regina could feel her whole body tingle.

She Regina initiated the second kiss, this one deeper. Emma rolled over to straddle her while Regina tangled her hands in Emma’s hair, arching up to meet Emma’s touch and gently tugging Emma’s lower lip with her teeth.

It took a few moments for Regina to come to her senses. When the reality of what she was doing hit her, she jerked away, shoving Emma’s chest with her palm and pushing her back so they were an arm’s length away.

“What are you _doing_?” Regina hissed.

Emma stared at her, lips swollen, looking disheveled, incredulous, and mildly cranky. “Well, I _was_ kissing you. And I’m pretty sure you were kissing me back. Not so sure what we’re doing now.”

“I’m not some sort of _toy_ you can use to distract yourself from being worried about our son!”

“What the hell?” Emma reared back, looking honestly offended. “That is _not_ where this is coming from.”

“No?” Regina imbued her voice with as much scorn as possible. “Then why exactly _are_ you kissing me?”

“I don’t know, maybe because I have feelings for you!”

The words rang out sharply in the small cabin, Emma clearly startling herself as much as Regina with the admission. For a long beat afterwards, the only noise in the room was the creak of old wood and the sound of both women breathing heavily. Then Regina closed her eyes and shook her head.

“No you don’t.”

Emma moved back even farther, climbing off Regina and sitting on the edge of the bed near her feet. “You seriously need to stop telling me what I do or don’t feel about you.”

Regina laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Fine. You _think_ you have feelings for me. But how long do you suppose that will last, dear?”

“What?”

Regina sighed, and when she spoke again the mocking tone was gone, replaced by a more subdued one. “How long will it be before something happens to convince you not to?”

At Emma’s confused look, Regina offered a sad smile. “It’s what you do, Emma. You’re there, and then you’re not, and I can’t—it’s worse than if you were never there at all. And maybe I deserve it—I probably deserve it—but that doesn’t mean that it’s not…” Regina faltered, and pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes. “You use Henry in it, too. You vacillate between telling me that I’m a part of his life and that you’ll never let me see him, and it’s too _hard_ , Emma. Whether or not I deserve it. It’s too hard.”

“I’m sorry.” Emma looked as guilt-ridden as Regina had ever seen her.

“For now. I know you are. For now. And I know you believe you’ll keep feeling this way, but you won’t. Something _will_ happen. Something will happen, and you’ll stop trusting me again. And I’m—” Regina’s voice broke, and she internally cursed herself. “I’m tired of giving you the power to hurt me.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“I _won’t_. I know I fucked up about Archie, but—”

“It’s not just Archie. It’s…everything.”

Emma was quiet for a bit, before asking softly, “Your mother?”

Regina nodded, almost imperceptibly. “I trusted you,” she said. “I don’t trust _anyone_ , but I…for whatever reason, I trusted you. You promised everything was going to be okay, and then you just _left_. And she was all I had. And then she was gone, and I didn’t have anyone, and I—I reacted the only way I know how. And you hated me for it. You hated me for it, even though you weren’t there. Less than a week ago you were making plans to leave me behind while you and everyone—including Henry—went back to the Enchanted Forest, and now you’re kissing me, and I don’t know what to _do_ with that. I don’t know what to do with you.”

Regina couldn’t believe she was actually confessing all of this. She hated being vulnerable, hating admitting it was even possible for her to get hurt. But Emma had changed all the rules, ever since she’d first shown up on Regina’s driveway and turned Regina’s life upside down, and now Emma’s kiss seemed to have opened some sort of dam, leaving Regina helpless to stop the words pouring out.

“I can’t do it anymore. The back and forth. I can’t do it. So you need to make up your mind. Either you trust me, and want to move forward in building some sort of relationship—whatever that means to you—or you don’t, and this is just a temporary calm in the storm because you need my help to save Henry.”

“I—”

“No,” Regina cut her off. “Don’t answer now. Take your time and really think about it. Because whichever you decide…you need to be sure. I need you to be sure.”

Regina waited for Emma to keep arguing, but instead Emma just swallowed, nodding slowly. “I should…”

“Yes.” Regina refused to meet Emma’s eyes.

“Okay.” Emma got up awkwardly, made her way towards the door. “I’ll be back later with dinner.”

Not trusting herself to talk, Regina merely nodded silently.

“Okay,” Emma said, one last time, and shut the door gently behind her.

After Emma was gone, Regina squeezed her eyes tightly shut and pressed her lips firmly together to ward off further tears. Damn it. She wondered if she was doing the right thing. If she should have just given in and accepted what Emma was willing to give right now. Would it really be worse, to have something now and lose it later, compared to having nothing?

Yes. It would. Deep down, she knew it would. She was tired of the mind-fuck that was her relationship with Emma Swan. Emma, who at some point since up-ending Regina’s life had turned into a jumble of _this is_ ** _your_** _fault_ and _your mother she’s a real piece of work_ and blond curls and red leather jackets that made Regina’s heart jump from afar and magic so pure it made Regina’s heart sing when it blended with hers. Try as she might, Regina found she couldn’t pinpoint the moment when Emma’s opinion had truly begun to matter to her. When _Emma_ had truly begun to matter to her. How had she turned into that person?.

Regina let out a deep sigh. Emma’s answer would come soon enough, and for now, all Regina could do was keep her eyes shut, and pretend to herself that she didn’t care.

 


End file.
